


no rest for the wicked

by exogenesis



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7416592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exogenesis/pseuds/exogenesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't really ask for much more. He shared a room with Ma and Jamie above their shop. He went to school a few times a week to endure the seemingly omnipresent wrath of Ms. Eli. As far as he knew life in Charlestown, Nevis was pretty good if he didn't have to polish shoes on any given day. As far as Alex knew, his Ma and Jamie were the only two people in the world that should have mattered to him at all. That was, until the Charlestown around him started to burn to the ground. But in the end, maybe he wanted to watch the entire world burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strength to the weary

**Author's Note:**

> A note: Any views of religion expressed in this work are my interpretations of what Alex or James might feel like at certain points in their lives and do not reflect my actual views.
> 
> With that being said, I hope you enjoy! Inspired by "to scale the blue sky" from the amazing, hardworking, and talented @iluzjonista.

**Act One:**

_"Maybe it's better without you. Maybe we were doomed from the beginning."_

_. . ._

 

JANUARY 11TH, 1766

 

A bell rang in the shop which roused James from the room up above. Sitting up, he readied himself to disentangle his limbs from his mother and younger brother. However, when his eyesight adjusted to the light flourishing itself from the window, he realized that the rest of his family was already downstairs. He shot up from the bed and quickly changed into his clothes, jumping to wiggle into his trousers and choosing to not to check himself in the mirror.

He ran down to the shop after neglecting to put his shoes on, feet already collecting dust from the stairs. He ran head first into his mother’s stomach, startling her nearly enough to make her drop the sack of leather she was carrying. He backpedaled and looked up to be met with furrowed eyebrows and a thin line of lips.

“James, I run a business down here, either put on some shoes or go back upstairs,” she chastised. “I should be able to hear those shoes of yours making noise from down here.”

“Sorry Ma,” he says, turning around, only to be headbutted by his younger brother who simultaneously stepped on his bare feet with his shoes.

“Ah, sorry Jamie!” He said this loud enough to alert all two customers in the store that he was capable of giving apologies to his older brother.

James could hear his mother groan behind him. “Alright, take Alex upstairs with you while you’re at it and tell him again-,” She said pointedly, more towards Alexander than his older brother, “-that he can be as loud as he wants when the shop is closed.” An intimidated looking customer with what James assumed to be his daughter rang the bell at the counter. His mother pinned a smile back onto her face before turning towards the customers.

“Hi, sorry about that, do you want me to ring you up?” Alex was tugging at James’ sleeves, pulling him towards the staircase.

“Yeah yeah, okay Alex, I get it,” James led his brother upstairs and put shoes on. Alex flopped backward onto the one bed and sighed. The older Hamilton rolled his eyes and leaned back onto the bookshelf.

“Even if I repeat what Ma just said to you five hundred times, you wouldn’t actually quiet down.” The eleven-year-old nodded in response as if it were even a question. More likely was that James was simply stating a law of the universe.

“Do me a favor and stay up here for a few extra minutes? We gotta act like we’re arguing or something.” Alexander grinned and rolled himself completely onto the bed, stretching his limbs not unlike a cat. James took the extra time to clean himself up a little better while looking at his reflection before going downstairs and inevitably be put to work. At least it wasn't his turn to polish his mother’s wares this time around. Alex would be smelling like shoe polish for the next week, albeit he’d have to deal with the smell at night in their shared room.

That, however, he could stand.

“Wanna go down to the coast today after the shop closes up and find shells for Ma? We don’t have any schoolwork to do, right?” James started attempting to pry Alex’s legs off the bed before replying.

“You’re forgetting that we have school tomorrow morning and Miss Eli’s gonna be mad if she finds you falling asleep while we’re doing schoolwork again.” Alex now only has his upper body still on the bed. His grip was wrapped firmly around the bed frame. His body refused to be taken down by the likes of his lanky brother.

“And you’re forgetting that she found you asleep during spelling lessons too,” Alex quipped before his back met the ground with a thud. Alex took a sharp intake of breath as the wind was momentarily knocked out of him. James dropped his legs ceremoniously, sticking his arms up in triumph before remembering that he had work to do.

He smoothed his hair one last time before hurrying downstairs. Alex scrambled back onto his feet only to see James disappearing down the stairs before peeking back up. “Help me tend the shop today and maybe we’ll have time to go down there before it gets dark!”

The deal seemed rather unfair to Alexander, as it was his job to do all of the shoe polishings today. Despite this, he grinned at the disappearing figure that was his brother before calling after him. “I bet I can find more shells than you!” He heard a hearty laugh from downstairs and a yell that could only come from his mother. “ALEXANDER! What did James and I tell you?!”

**. . .**

 

Alex was running down the beach with shells filling his pockets before he heard someone yell his name for the second time that day. “ALEX!”

He whipped his head around to look at his brother, who was picking up shells off the shore. Realization danced on James' face, almost prominent enough to bounce off the rolling waves nearby.

“Isn’t it your birthday today?” The eleven-year-old silently counted the days that had passed since the new year’s celebration on his fingers.

Huh, it has been eleven days.

“I guess?”

“I can’t believe that Ma didn’t remember, we’re going home right now-”

Alexander chuckled at his brother’s concern. “She’s had a long day, I’ll tell her tomorrow.” James’ stressed faced softened at the relaxed smile that Alexander was giving him. “Besides, how many shells have you gotten?”

James looked down at the armful of shells. “To be honest? Enough, I think. We should be getting home anyway.”

Alex grinned in spite of James. “Whatever you say.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say something like that.” Alexander rolled his eyes in response.

  
**. . .**

 

The door rang open the bell as the two young Hamiltons burst into their mother’s shop, expecting to find her cleaning up. The entire room was dark except for a faint candlelight that came from upstairs. Alex cast a worried look at James, who noticed, but instead chose to stare ahead in denial before disturbing the palpable tension in the air.

“She’s probably napping, she’s gotta be. This morning looked busy, didn’t it?”

“There were only like, two customers…” Alex trailed off.

The two of them cautiously stepped between the shelves that were cleared of their wares.

“Ma didn’t get sick off the shoe polish again, did she?”

“That was my job today, remember?”

They followed the light up the stairs and open the door to their single bedroom. Inside the bed was cleared of its mattress, sheets, and blankets. Instead, their mother was sitting on her knees in front of the bed frame with a single candle illuminating her face. Her hands were clasped together.

She was praying.

“Uh... Ma?” Alex said, breaking the silence. His mother looked up at her sons and smiled.

“Thank God, I thought something had happened to you two-”

“What’s all this?” Alexander interrupted. Their mother acted like she hadn’t been interrupted, choosing instead to glare before answering.

“You know exactly what this is Alexander.” She caught his gaze in hers. It was sharp at the edges, but he could feel worry in it at the same time. He hated it. He redirected his eye contact to the bed frame. There was a cake with a candle on top of it.

“I was waiting for you two to come home before I lit it, but it got dark out before you came home. I don’t know why you decided to stay out so late, not to mention that it is a school night and one of your birthdays-”

James and Alexander scattered the seashells that they were holding at their mother's legs.

“These are for you,” James said. Their mother looked down at the shells that were sprawled across the floor. They caught the light of the candle and reflected it back onto the walls. She opened her mouth before closing it again without a single sound coming out. Feigning anger, she told them to kneel with her. They did so on opposite sides of her. She clasped her hands back together, the two brothers mirroring her movements. They prayed in unison.

 

_“God, we thank you for this food. For rest and home and all things good. For wind and rain and sun above. But most of all for those we love. Amen.”  
_

They all opened their eyes at the same time and looked at the cake, the mother pulling the younger son up close, neglecting the older one for just a moment.

“Alexander.” The aforementioned boy nodded, answering soundlessly before closing his eyes to make a wish. He blew out the candle with a moment’s hesitation. He slowly turned around to face his family.

“Thanks, Ma.” He paused and stood up to sit between his brother and his mother.

“And Jamie too, I guess.”

“And what did I do?” James smiled as he attempted to grab a piece of cake with his bare hands before they were smacked away by his mother. She then got up to get plates and forks from the cupboard.

“For reminding me.” Their mother returned and handed a plate to each of them. Her eyes widened as she heard Alex’s answer.

“You forgot your own birthday?!” Alexander waved her off as he plated everyone else’s food before his own.

“Ah, give him a break Ma, he’s too busy yelling through the days to count ‘em.”

“Shut up,” Alex said before taking a large bite of slice of cake.

“You chew too loudly,” his mother said in response to his audible gnawing. Alex would cross his arms if he could, but instead he just imagined himself doing it, hoping that the message would get across to everyone eating cake in their room which hung above their shop.

It wasn’t quite the nobles’ son birthday celebration that Alex had guiltily longed for every year, but it was special. He felt warm, and it sure as hell wasn’t because of the single, miniscule candle.


	2. clear conscience

JANUARY 11TH, 1767

 

January 11th was a day that should not have allowed the sun to fling down rays of searing heat to the people who resided below. Any weather that made Alexander’s feet recoil as his toes touched the ground should have been completely unacceptable. The heat made him irritable despite the fact that he had grown up in such a climate that should have required him to have grown used to such conditions.

However. That did not stop Alexander from thinking that the sun would not be the only thing to fling things at people today if it didn't cool down soon. He set down the book that he had been reading for school and went downstairs to help his mother set up the shop. He ignored Jamie’s snoring from the bed.

He hoped he wasn’t on shoe polishing duty today.

. . .

He hated the smell of shoe polish with a burning, _seething_ passion. It was as if his mother had pointedly made it a tradition to make him perform his least favorite chore on the anniversary of his birth every single year. When he had made this suggestion to her, she crinkled her nose in what seemed like hurt because how _dare_ he even insinuate that she would perform such a cruel act upon him.

His mother acted innocent, but the twelve-year-old knew that this was no accident. He could have sworn that he saw a hidden smile on her face as she watched him polish all the shoes on display from the counter. He turned to James, who was finally awake and scrubbing the floors on his knees. His brother turned towards him, sensing that Alexander’s gaze had been set upon him.

“Jamie, you can see her and how sadistic she looks right? She’s not even a good actress-,”

“-And you’re probably not even a good shoe shiner with the amount of whining that you do,” James retorts. He could hear his mother snicker from the counter as he continued scrubbing the floor. “Seeing as you have to do it all the time,” he adds as an afterthought.

Alexander is annoyed at this- his brother had been on the receiving end of his ailments over polishing shoes ever since he was made to do it for the first time.

“Plus, I don’t even smell like shoe polish after I finish. So I bet that you’re just doing something wrong.” Alexander pretends like he didn’t hear, trying his damnedest to not fling shoes at his older sibling.

He could feel his self-control slipping away before a customer walked into the shop. At eye level, Alexander’s short stature allowed him to see knee high black boots walking in long strides with a dark blue coat hanging precariously close to the ground. Craning his neck upwards, Alex saw a short but broad-shouldered man with muscle on his arms and fat on his stomach. He was holding a pair of boots identical to the ones that he was wearing. He dropped the shoes with a loud thud onto the counter. Their mother didn’t even flinch.

“Hello sir, what can I do for you?” Alexander couldn’t ever imagine himself even pretending to be on equal ground with men the likes of the man who stood before his mother. Fat on his belly meant he ate excessively, eating excessively means that he was an excessive amount of food, which would lead Alexander to conclude that the man has an extensive amount of money.

He could have sworn that he saw James lick his lips out of the corner of his eye. Both brothers looked at each other at the same time, giving each other expressions that read, This man’s got money, this man needs something from Ma and maybe we could get some extra cash out of it.

Their mother, noticing the silent exchange between her sons from behind the counter, chose to not acknowledge it. All three Hamiltons in the store knew of this man’s potential payout, but they would have to know when to play aggressively and when to fold their cards.

A little dishonest, sure, but Rachel Buck Hamilton had a shop to run, two sons whose private education she needed to pay for, and a cake to buy.

The man looked around warily as if somebody was watching him. Alex guessed that it was because he didn’t want to be caught in “the whore’s” shop. It’s a shame that “the whore” is the only decent cobbler in Nevis.

“Ah yes… miss. The soles on the bottoms are in an unacceptable state and I need them fixed as soon as possible. How much will the repair be?”

“How soon is as soon as possible?”

“The end of today.” Alex saw his mother wince at the deadline before she bounced write back to her saleswoman composure.

“Well, since this is a rushed job and the soles are in an “unacceptable” state that’s going to cost you extra.”

“How much?”

She got a piece of paper and a pen and started doing calculations as if she had a set price for anything. “You pay what you can afford,” is what she always told her sons. Good thing that this guy could afford a lot. Alex sniggered behind a rack of shoes. Luckily, the man didn’t turn around.

“That’s gonna cost you 73 cents, sir.” The Hamiltons could see the man’s shoulders hunch in frustration at the outrageous price. He slightly deflated before he proceeded to berate the shop owner.

“73 cents is much more than what my wife’s shoes cost me! Miss, are you sure that you’re not overcharging me-”

“Sir,” she said with an edge in her voice. He stopped talking immediately. “These boots are made of extremely fine leather, which, I’m sure as you know, comes very expensive. If you wish to have these boots restored to their original state, then 73 cents will cover the leather, the rush fees, the repair costs, and the new buckle that this-”

She picked at a strap of leather that was peeling off.

“-obviously needs.” James and Alexander both gave their mother an encouraging look from behind the man’s back. She smiled.

The man took out his coin purse and counted 73 cents in his palm before dropping them into their mother’s hand with reluctance and a “These shoes better be in damn good shape when I come back.” He spat the last part as if he detested coming back to the shop.

Alex, for one, wouldn’t be the only person that would detest him coming back.

“Thank you for your business,” they all called after his back as he left the shop. Their mother counted the money in her palm before putting it in the safe below the counter. She sighed in what seemed like relief. Alex would never understand how she was able to stand her ground under the gaze of men like him.

“I didn’t know we had rush fees, Ma,” James said knowingly as he stood up off the floor, finished with his chore. He had a snide smile on his face, knowing his mother’s tactics.

“I know,” she responds. She says the rest as an afterthought. “You two do realize that you aren’t supposed to do that in normal business, yeah?" She says this to salvage her reputation as a good example for her kids. "Don't do what I'm doing."

James and Alexander looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Their mother noticed.

"Just for that attitude, James, you get to help Alex with shoe polish. And Alex, once you're done, you're scrubbing the floor again."

"But James just-"

"How tragic," his mother deadpanned. She set to work on the pair of boots, not allowing any further debate to be had.

Alex huffed in response, knowing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with his mother. No living being on the planet could be a worthy adversary to their mother when it came to arguing. Or, as she put it, "negotiation." James would have laughed if it weren't for the fact that he had to help Alex with the shoe polish.

. . .

“I still don’t get how we manage to find time to do this every year.”

“It’s because mom jumps down our throats to get work done all the time.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

Their bare feet lay in front of their torsos as they let the rolling waves pass over their toes. Shoes forgotten by the rocks at the edge of the shore, they let the last vicious rays of the sun warm their faces before it went down for the night.

“You think Ma forgot your birthday this year?” Alexander remembered James bringing up the topic last year.

“Nah,” he starts. “She got extra money from that man this morning so I think she’s trying to surprise us again.”

“You say that as if you know for sure that she’s gonna do something.”

“She will.”

Alexander watched James as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, sure, she’ll surprise us with chores,” the older Hamilton said bitterly. Alex laughed.

The last of the sun’s rays dropped into the ocean. With that, the two Hamiltons headed back.

73 cents was enough to close the shop for a few days. Maybe they wouldn’t have to polish any shoes tomorrow.

. . .

Alexander got new shoes the next day. He had to polish them.

He did it with a smile.


	3. sown in dishonor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i kno i just updated yesterday but i couldnt help myself shut up)
> 
> tw for talks of abandonment. i'd look at the archive warnings too.

JANUARY 11TH, 1768

 

For the first time in a long while, Alexander woke up to an empty bed on his birthday. James wasn’t pressed up against the wall and snoring for once, and his mother wasn’t curled up between the two of them. Of course, it had been like this for a few weeks.

Alex put the back of his hand to his forehead to test if he still had a fever. He knew that testing oneself wasn’t how it worked to see if you were sick, but nobody else was in the room and he figured that checking himself was better than nothing.

Of course, his reasoning wasn’t acceptable when he appeared downstairs only to instantly be berated by both his mother and his brother. The three customers in the shop pretended not to notice while they looked at the display of newly made shoes.

Alex was still able to fit into his boots that he got last year. According to his mother, she knew that he was coming downstairs because she could hear the clicking of his steps as soon as he put them on.

His mother was so sharp, it was a wonder how she wasn’t some haggling fisherwoman by the docks raking in money every day. She certainly had the will for it.

 _And the mouth too,_ his mind helpfully supplied.

“Get back upstairs, I don’t want you getting any of the customers sick,” his mother said over her shoulder without even having to turn towards the staircase.

“I don’t wanna be getting sick either,” added his brother. Alex backpedaled back up the stairs before calling down in a strained voice.

“Glad to see my family cares about my well-being so much!”

_At least I don’t have to deal with the damn shoe polish on my own birthday._

**_. . ._ **

 

“No James, you cannot take your brother to the ocean this year.”

The two brothers practically had their foot out the shop door before their mother’s voice called after them. They almost got away with it without telling her.

“We do it every year, Ma,” Alex whined. He stifled a cough to further prove their argument. “All we do is sit out there anyways.” His mother narrowed her eyes in uncharacteristic consideration before waving them off.

“Be back before dark or both of you are doing your favorite job tomorrow.”

They bolted out the door before their mother could change their mind. James was sprinting ahead of Alex until he was able to see the coastline. When the older brother noticed that he didn’t hear any panting behind him, he turned around to find Alexander a dozen paces down the street. He feigned impatience as he waited for his younger brother to catch up to him.

“We can _not_ run you know,” James said reassuringly. Alex was going to give him a look of indignant before teasing him about how soft he was being, but then he saw the concerned look on his brother’s face. He decided to nod instead in agreement. Their footsteps were in sync as they walked down the dirt roads of Charlestown. On the way to the beach, they passed the church.

Alex saw James look longingly at it before tearing his gaze away back in front of him. Touchy territory, but James was in an agreeable mood so Alex decided to push the subject.

“Do you wanna go to real school like the other kids?” James closed his eyes as if he was composing himself before he spoke.

“We _do_ go to school though, Alex.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

There was a pause. James stopped walking. Alex pulled both of them to the side of the road before they got in someone’s way.

“We get better lessons from Ms. Eli anyway,” James said, deflecting the question again. Alex sat down against the wall, not wanting to waste energy on standing idly and trying to get an answer out of his brother.

“Well, since you won’t tell me, I’ll tell you that I wish we went to real school,” he said bluntly. James’ eyes widened before he sighed in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, I _do_ wish that we got to go to regular school too. Even if we do have to go more days of the week.”

“It’s better if we go more.”

“Sure it is, but then we wouldn’t be able to do stuff like go to the beach on your birthday every year. We wouldn’t be in a bunch of trouble every time you get sick because we wouldn’t miss so much school,” James starts. “Because everyone knows that once you get sick, you get sick for a long while before you decide to get better again.”

“You dragging me out here doesn’t help my sickness at all ya know.”

“Maybe that’s how I want it to be,” James said thickly. The sudden change of tone startled Alex, but he said nothing. James tilted his head back so the church was in view again. He started wistfully at it once again and his bottom lip quivered.

“Ma should have gotten married to him,” Alex said suddenly.

Their father.

He started tracing words in the dirt nervously. His brother looked down at him.

“Women can’t get divorces,” James replied as if he’d been practicing that phrase his entire life. Or maybe he hadn’t been practicing, maybe he’d just been repeating what had been said to them time and time again when they were little. Alex relented.

“Yeah,” he said bitterly. “They can’t.” He looked up to the church and they stayed silent for a while.

“You know Ma had another son before us,” James said suddenly. Alex's mouth gaped, but before he could form words, the older Hamilton quickly continued.

“Yeah, I heard her talking about him with a customer while you were still in bed. It’s amazing what you can find out if you wake up a little earlier,” he laughs in spite of himself. His face was devoid of any traces of a smile. Instead, a blank look covered his features. His eyes were wide open as he stared dejectedly at the words that Alex was drawing with his finger. “His name was Peter, he’s three years older than us. Ma left him and her old husband behind, but you only knew about the old husband, she left her own son behind and her old family behind for someone else-”

“James-”

“-and then that someone else left us too, Alex. He left because he didn’t wanna get Ma in any more trouble than she already was. Ma’s trouble, and I love her, I know I do, and I know you do too but she’s trouble, Alex-” He swallowed. “-and if we don’t watch ourselves we’re gonna become trouble too and…” He resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands, instead electing to hold his younger brother closer to him as his voice got smaller.

Alex had a million things to say to his brother, but he realized that it wasn’t the best time to push the subject. It wasn’t a good idea to push the subject in the first place, but the deed was already done.

“I don’t want us to end up like Ma.” James’ voice sounded monotone, but Alex knew that that was his method of not crying. Alex’s hands were covered in dust, but he hugged James anyway.

There were a million things that were whirling around in Alex’s head. Instead of his thoughts, he chose to let the distant sound of the crashing waves and his brother’s shaky breath speak for him. He didn’t want to fight a hurricane at the moment, not when his eyelids felt like they were singeing his eyes from the fever and his head was already pounding anyway.

“Sorry Alex.”

There was a pause. The younger brother got up and pulled the older one up with him.

“Don’t worry about it.” He brushed the dirt onto his trousers. “Beach?”

James let a small smile overtake his face again. “Yeah.”

 

. . .

 

FEBRUARY 1ST, 1768

 

Alexander couldn’t move, and he was facing a dilemma.

His eyelids were burning, so he didn’t want to close them, but they were heavy, so he wanted to close them. He’d been facing the issue for the last few weeks or so, as he hadn’t been able to let his mind wander off to anything of a different nature.

His mother came upstairs with a bucket of water and a ladle. She kneeled next to the bed which had been occupied only by Alexander since his fever got worse. She dipped the ladle in and held it to his lips.

“Drink,” she instructed. He sipped the water slowly, letting the coolness soothe his scratchy throat. He mouthed for more.

After a while, Alex decided to test his voice out. He coughed in preparation.

“Where’s James,” he croaked. The words had to be forced past his throat as he shaped them with his chapped lips.

“School,” she said. “Though yesterday he came back with more seashells even though he said he was at school the entire day.”

“You think-” Alex started. His mother motioned for him to stop speaking and held another ladle of water for him to drink. He swallowed it down and tried again. “You think Ms. Eli let him out early?”

“Maybe.”

Alex tried sinking down further into the bed, but his feet hung over the edge and peeked beyond the blanket. He curled his toes as he pulled himself back up with quite a bit of effort.

Alex hated being sick.

“Pass me a book?” His mother complied, laughing as she muttered something about “him and his damn books.”

Mid-laugh, she coughed.

 

. . .

 

FEBRUARY 19TH, 1768

 

It had been a long time since Alex was able to share a bed with his mother.

It had been even longer since he had been able to share one with James.

James had been sleeping on the floor for the last two weeks with a single blanket.

These were three facts that Alex was sure of as he lay still in bed with his mother curled around him. This time, he was the one pressed against the wall. He felt like his head was going to crack his skull open with the sheer force of a headache.

Alex was sure that’s how it worked.

 _Actually_ , he argued, with himself. _I am not a doctor, I’m not sure if that’s how it works._ He decided to keep the list of things he was sure of to three items.

He could hear his brother snoring from the floor. He could feel his mother’s chest rising and falling against his back. Her breath against his neck. Slowly. Weakly. But there.

He pushed himself up. His mother stirred from her sleep but she didn’t move. He was leaning against the wall now.

The room was dark. He could make out the outline of his brother if he strained his neck enough over his mother’s shoulder. A faint light was coming through the windows.

His throat wasn’t scratchy anymore. He had swimming hands and his vision was fading white in some places, but he was fine otherwise. Yesterday, Alex was able to take care of polishing the shoe display while his mom slept. He was even able to help James manage the shop for a little while before he had to go upstairs for rest.

He still wasn’t allowed to go back to school.

As compensation, his “damn books” that his mother always talked about kept him occupied. They were all stacked up under the bed. If he was careful, maybe he could get up and light a candle so he could read until his family woke up.

Moving to put his hands on the sheets, he was stopped abruptly by his mother’s arm. Her eyes were still closed.

She’s as sharp as ever.

“Don’t go off right now, Alexander,” she said quietly, hoping to not wake James. Or maybe it was because she wasn’t able to raise her voice any louder. She had inherited the scratchy throat from Alex.

“But Ma-”

“-Please. It can wait until morning.”

Alexander begrudgingly relented and went back to his earlier position in the bed. His mother held him closer to her chest. He could feel her forehead pressed against the nape of his neck.

 

“I don’t want… you to be wasting candles this… late…” She masked a cough with her hand before putting it on his head.

“Okay, okay Ma,” he said, shushing her. That’s something he didn’t get to do everyday. Maybe he’d get used to it when he got better.

“Good.” She smoothed her hand over his hair. Alex’s head was still pulsating with his headache.

“And Alexander-”

“Yeah?” There was a long pause before she spoke. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Tomorrow... you should go to the beach with James. You two ‘ave been holding down the shop for so... long... without me... you two deserve rest.”

“Okay, Ma,” he said to appease her. She hugged him tighter.

He yawned before letting his head take over his senses again. He could hear his brother’s faint snoring from the ground. He could feel the bed groan as he squirmed under his mother’s arm for a more comfortable position. He closed his eyes and opened them again, noting that there wasn’t much change in what he was seeing either way.

He fell asleep to a still bed and a lack of breath on the nape of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the cutest chapter of em all


	4. lay us down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for character death and feelings following that
> 
> shorter chapter, hopefully i'll be able to give you a longer one tomorrow :)

FEBRUARY 19TH, 1768

 

James woke up to two things that morning:

A stench that made him wrinkle his nose and coughing.

He wasn’t exactly sure what the situation was, but from his first guess, he thought that someone might have ended up peeing in the bed or something disgusting like that. James got up alone and was getting ready open the shop for the day before looking over to the bed to see if Ma or Alex needed anything.

Alex was… sound asleep. With his face buried in their mom. Which was new.

Usually, he was the first one to wake. Even though he had been bedridden for the last few weeks, James would always wake up and see Alex sitting up in bed with one of his books.

But their mother was asleep, so she couldn’t possibly have been the one coughing. James looked closer. The smell got worse. Alex was shaking. His eyes suddenly shot open and James could see tears in his eyes.

Alex was sobbing into their mother. It smelled bad, and she wasn’t moving, wasn’t comforting Alex or smoothing out his hair or shushing him-

. . .

Ma? Alex mouthed the word when he tapped her but didn’t wake.

“Ma?” he said this time, out loud. She didn’t stir.

Her hair was askew all over the pillow and her cheeks were colorless and looked like porcelain. There were tear tracks going down her face that dribbled to the bottom of her chin. Her arm was limp around Alex. He didn’t have to struggle at all to remove her arm from him. He plopped it unceremoniously onto her side.

“Ma.” His voice quivered. The first rays of sunlight came in through the window. Her ash back hair illuminated more brightly than the rest of her skin. Her legs were curled up into Alex and her hands were still soft. He shook her gently because she wasn’t allowed to sleep in even if she was sick, she had to tell Alex that he was allowed to go read now and maybe just maybe she’ll tell him to get out of bed and stop bothering her already-

His stomach was churning and he was about to puke and his breath was shallow and his head felt heavy and he was quaking and shivering and it was so  _ cold _ -

“Ma, Mama, Mama wake up Mama- Mama, you need to get up and tell Jamie to go downstairs remember and you told me that I needed to go to the beach today with him do you finally think that I’m well enough to go outside today?” He pleaded with her.

He started shaking her limp body violently but she wouldn’t move. Her lips were parted but she wasn’t making a single sound and her hands were so cold and her chest was still and Alex pleaded for his mother to just  _ answer, answer me goddammit Mama, argue with me and tell me that I can’t go outside because I’m still not well enough Mama, complain about me and make me use the shoe polish and yell in customer’s faces, damnit Mama you never told us anything are you just going to stay here and not tell us about your other son, about Peter, Mama, Mama Mama Ma- _

Two arms wrapped around his torso and he was lifted away from the bed. His could feel his body swell up red with fury and pure seething hatred and discontentment and lividness and crushing  _ sadness  _ and-

He was facing his brother who held him at arm’s length like a ragdoll. James was expressionless. He was unmoving until his bottom lip quivered.

Alex got pulled closer to James who started sobbing into his shoulder. Alex wrapped his legs around his older brother as they both collapsed crying onto the floor, and it hurt but they couldn’t feel it or anything else because they were already scrambling onto the bed after  _ Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama- _

. . .

A customer who was supposed to pick up an order on that day found them.

He heard sounds from the open window above the shop and broke in.

They were crying loudly into their mother’s corpse.

They wouldn’t let go.


	5. and yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be cutting the update schedule a little more because i don't like the quality of my chapters right now. hopefully this longer chapter will make up for it
> 
> tw: for graphic depiction of violence, though brief, but it's there. and talks of abandonment. i revised my notes at the beginning of this work if you'd be interested in going back and reading it. sorta important.

FEBRUARY 30TH, 1768

 

They wouldn’t bathe for weeks after that.

They went to their mother’s funeral caked in the scent of tears and sick and death _._

Nobody wanted to look at them. Tragedy seemed to be contagious. If one looked at them for too long, they could feel their own stomach drop into their gut.

. . .

They sat in the courtroom together in those same clothes. They could see their mother’s first husband obtaining the deed to the property and giving everything to Peter.

They saw his pitying glance he spared them before quickly whipping his head back to face his father, as if he couldn’t be seen looking at his half brothers.

James had half a mind to slowly curl his fingers around the boy’s throat and squeeze until he heard wheezing and gasping and his warm, red blood came spilling out to dry up in between his fingernails and he could feel his windpipe contract-

The other half was focused on making sure Alex didn’t do the same.

. . .

 

They lost the shop and their home above it.

 

. . .

 

Alex turned over the events in his head after a while. He didn't dig any deeper. He didn't ask questions.

He just examined.

As time went on, he realized that his mother was the only person that kept his life from reducing into shambles.

Him and James were nothing without their mother.

 

. . .

 

The thought made Alexander furious.

 

. . .

 

AUGUST 19TH, 1768

 

Alexander had been thirteen for approximately seven months and had been an orphan for exactly six months.

An orphan. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he attempted to say it out loud. He could feel bile build up in his throat every time the subject came up.

Alex had thought about what would happen if “this” type of thing occurred before. He always imagined that he and his brother would end up a lot closer by the end of it.

James didn't want to go to school anymore. Alex couldn't go to school anymore. Ms. Eli had been at their mother's funeral, and that's the last that they had seen of her.

Her sad, sympathetic glance made him sick to his stomach.

Alex had his books with him. Back at the store, he would read them whenever business was slow.

Nowadays that's all he ever did. James dealt with things differently.

Alex never saw him during the day anymore. He would come home with a glazed look in his eyes and an expressionless face. His hands would be covered in tar and his feet would be swollen and red from walking barefoot all day. He'd then trot off to the corner of the room where their cousin had set up a mattress for them to sleep on.

Alex chose to sleep on the floor. James slept on the mattress.

Alex often wrote in the margins of his own books. Rewriting a turn of phrase. Comments on certain sentences. Scribbling out others entirely. Drying out tears that would sometimes wet the pages.

 

. . .

 SEPTEMBER 29TH, 1768

Was James becoming the thing he feared the most?

He thought that to himself day after _wretched_ day. At first, he'd go to the beach and just wade in the water until he couldn't feel his lower half anymore. He'd wait until it would get dark outside before heading back to where his cousin lived. Alex would always be waiting for him at the dinner table reading the same books every day.

James found a new hobby eventually.

There was always so much tar that lay in puddles at the beach.

Handfuls upon handfuls upon handfuls.

James wrote too, sure.

He rewrote turns of phrases in big, rounded letters on the side of the church in the dead of the night. Every night he’d come home with tar on his hands.

He couldn’t look Alexander in the eyes.

James was trouble. A street urchin. Trash. A delinquent. An orphan. He saw those words every time he wrote with tar on the walls of the church. He’d walk at a slow pace off the sand of the beach and onto the dirt road. His feet would be red with blisters and his hands would be holding as much tar as he could carry.

He’d write to prove that he had been there, he’d write because it was the only way that he could ever tell anyone that he was still here after everything that had  happened. He’d write because it was the only way to tell people to stop feeling sorry for him, it was the only way that people would ever acknowledge his feelings without giving him that pitiful look, that sickening look that made his stomach churn, that same look with droopy eyes and a frown that Peter gave him and Alex-

The thought made him stop his surge of words. Alex, who had nothing, Alex, who was sitting in the awkward presence of their cousin who had been kind enough to let them stay with him but distant enough to have no meaning to them. Alex, who was just as grief stricken as him, who instead of wasting his life away sitting at the beach and being destructive, sat at home instead and read and wrote words that probably meant something other than “listen to me, listen to me because I’m angry and want to be heard.”

James looked down at his tar-stained hands before looking up at the wall that he had adorned with his big, rounded letters. He was disgusted with himself. He was trouble. A street urchin. Trash. A delinquent. An orphan.

...

 WINTER 1769

James tried to count the days. It was hard when the same thing happened every time he left the house.

He'd always end up at the church with walls that were repainted with a fresh coat of paint the previous morning.

And then he would write. 

...

 JANUARY 3RD, 1769

James found a seashell that reminded him of his mother. It was white like a porcelain doll, but the part that shone the most brightly in the sun was the metallic black edges.

He threw the shell as far into the sea as possible. Another sunset, another drop in the ocean.

 

...

 JANUARY 7TH, 1769

James tried reading one of Alex's books one day as he slept.

He was able to open one.

The brief glance that he has gotten showed him two pages full of scrawled handwriting in the margins. Entire passages were crossed out.

Smaller hands grabbed it out of his grip and slammed it shut. Alexander held the book close to his chest.

“Your hands… they're dirty.”

He knew what Alex had meant when he said that.

...

 JANUARY 11TH, 1769

His vision was blurry. He was at the side of the church and had been sitting there for God knows how long. He saw the sun drop into the ocean again.

...

 

_Jamie._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

_-You're scaring me._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Can't you look at me?_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

_Are you mad at me?_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Does God hate us?_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I feel alone, Jamie._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_-I miss her._

...

The stars were out by the time Alex went outside. James still hasn't come home yet. The only people still out on the streets were shopkeepers moving the last of their produce indoors and fishermen walking home from the docks.

Alexander passed the church. His eyes caught the black lettering that was written across the wall.

 _God is dead,_ the letters said.

Alexander felt a window shatter inside him.

_He's not here for you _,_ the letters said. _

Glass shards were flying everywhere.

_Gone _,_ the letters said. _

They were tearing at the insides of his stomach.

_There's nothing left for us here._

It was in James’ big, rounded handwriting.

Alex sprinted to the beach.

...

He kicked sand at his brother's back. James didn't move.

 _Last time I did something and the person didn’t move_ , Alex thought morbidly. _It was because she was dead._

“You should come back home,” were the first words that he was able to force out of his mouth. James didn’t even look back at him.

“It's not a home.”

“Fine then. Come inside to where we sleep.”

“I feel better out here.”

“No, you don't.“

Alex's voice was cold and closed off while James seemed extremely emotionally vulnerable. Both of them were treading water.

Alex sat down next to James and let the waves roll up to his ankles. They stayed like that for a bit.

That's when everything finally slammed into Alexander. He'd been wondering when his moment of catharsis would come but this was something entirely different. It wasn’t liberating like he thought it would be. It was restraining.

Their mom intended to never tell them about Peter for as long as she lived.

“On that last night…” Touchy territory. Alex still continued.

“ _She_ told me… that I should go to the beach with you once you woke up. She said it was because we… because we deserved rest.” A bitter laugh made its way through James. It looked like an earthquake shook him, not his own body.

“God, that sounds like her.” A pause. “It's no fair that she was about to die and then turns around to  tell us to go take a rest.”

“We did nothing for her but complain about shoe polish.”

“And come home late.”

“And track sand into the store.”

Silence. The waves rolled up to their thighs.

“Jamie.” He hummed in response.

A pause. His shoulders tensed up. A wet cough. Alex looked down at his brother’s tar soaked hands. So this is what he had been doing this entire time?

“You’re scaring me.” He continued staring at the horizon, not even acknowledging his younger brother. James didn’t want to talk about this right now, he didn’t want to look back at the shadow that had been cast over the rest of his mind, didn’t want to think about how he had been pryed away from his own mother because she wouldn’t get up _why wouldn’t she get up-_

“Can’t you look at me?”

James had always wondered why Alex didn’t tell him anything sooner. After all, if _he_ had been the one to get Ma sick and be the reason why she died and the person that she had been made to share a bed with, then he would have told Alex right away. If he were sharing the bed, as soon as he realized Ma wasn’t moving, he would have woken up Alex right away and gotten help, not just hopelessly cry until someone listened-

Alex could feel his voice starting to break. “Are you mad at me?”

Every year after he took Alexander to the beach on his birthday, they would always come back home at dusk, and they would always find their mother kneeling in front of the bed and praying when they found her upstairs. Every night she’d be there kneeling before the bed. After all the things she had done, after leaving the person she was married to and her son for someone else, after having two kids with someone else, after cheating people out of money at her shop, she still prayed every night. Her family of three shared a single crappy bed in a room above a shop on a property that didn’t even belong to them. Her children were told by the church that they couldn’t go to school there. They had to take their own lessons, Alex was more of his own _damn_ teacher than anyone else. She was trouble, and she knew it, and he knew it too.

And yet she still prayed every night.

It was maddening.

“Does... Does God hate us like you said?”

James felt distant from everyone. The beach with its seashells was his closest acquaintance. The sea would never leave, the sand would never leave. It was always here, it couldn’t get up and suddenly move somewhere else like nearly everyone else important in his life, everyone that could ever help him.

“I feel alone Jamie,” Alex said through sobs.

James looked to his right and saw Alex’s pleading face. He hugged his younger brother and rubbed small circles onto back. He was talking quick, shallow breaths and tried to stop his hiccups. He was finally, finally doing something other than writing. Alex was finally talking again.

“I miss her.”

James could feel tears start to roll over his own cheeks. He was getting tar on his brother’s shirt.

“I know.”

It wasn’t a, “I miss her too,” but it was something.

 _Happy birthday, Alexander._  His younger brother was bawling into his shoulder.

What _a celebration this turned out to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel a lot better about this chapter than my previous ones! i hope y'all don't mind longer waits ^^;;


	6. suspended in spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicide and reactions afterward. please please keep your health in mind, things get sort of heavy this chapter and i don't want anybody harmed because of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been nearly a week since i've updated! i've hit sort of a writers block but i think once this chapter is posted i'll be able to push on through to the stuff i've been waiting to write.
> 
> i think there will be 1-2 more parts before act two begins! updates will be cut down to once a week instead of 3-4, hope y'all don't mind :)
> 
> on another note: i'm currently in the market for a beta! if you'd be interested in that sort of thing, then you can message me on twitter @myakhie, or my tumblr, @akaashily

JANUARY 11TH, 1769

_ Again, again, again, again. _

They’ve danced to this same song time and time again but there always seemed to be a force that wanted to hear it once more, wanted to see them perform for it again, again, _again_ -

 A waltz of one two three, one two three, one two three, that just kept on repeating and repeating itself to force dancers to abide by its rules of rhythm. They’ve been caught in this web before, they’ve been on this beaten path before, they’ve been in this situation before and yet…

Their cousin was hanging a foot off the ground. His eyes were wide open in a way that reminded Alex of how his own brother would sometimes mirror that expression.

His legs were dangling. Alex would say that their cousin looked relaxed if it weren’t for the fact that his face had a trace of what looked like a last moment of horror.

Of regret, even.

Unlike last time-

_ It’s sickening how there had to have been a last time. _

-there weren’t any tears. There wasn’t sobbing into a corpse. There wasn’t desperate tugging.

There were just…

Emotions.

Was it shock? Disbelief? Sadness? Hurt?

Something,  _ something _ churned inside of Alex. When he saw how his brother went over to the corpse and poked it in disbelief, he realized what it was.

A pure, seething, sickeningly familiar  _ anger _ .

James pushed the corpse’s torso. His cousin- He?- It?- swung, hitting the wall before eventually swaying to a still again. His older brother was mouthing words as he pushed it again, harder and harder until the body was slamming into the wall.

“...you... don’t get-” he seemed to be saying. His teeth were grinding together. His fingers were curled into fists as he practically punched the corpse. All that could be heard was the thumping of a body against the wall. Back and forth it swung, over and over, _again, again, again_ -

Alex stopped the corpse mid swing and pulled his brother to the other side of the room. James barely acknowledged his brother’s presence but had an expression that mirrored the one that their cousin was wearing. His head was tilted to his right, his eyes wide open but blind to everything surrounding him.

“...don’t get to die…”

He was watching his brother spell out everything that he was feeling in bouts of disbelief, but he didn’t get to experience the same relief that his brother was feeling. No, no, all he felt was an anger at his cousin, at his brother, at Nevis, at the world, at God, at his mother, at himself.

And he could do nothing but watch his brother break down in front of him. An outward display of the internal things he was feeling. James slid his back against the wall, his feet scuffing the floor until he was in a sitting position. His hands flew over his face as he looked up at nothing. Or maybe he was looking up at something and wondering why He had failed them so many times.

“He wasn’t allowed to die, Alexander.” He shivered under all of his jackets.

He nodded in response. Alex slid down until he was sitting next to his brother again. Tar was streaked across his cheeks from when his hands had been there.

“He didn’t even leave a note.”

There were no tears. There wasn’t a sense of missing anyone. And maybe that’s why Alex was so mad at himself.

He was being selfish. He was mad at his cousin for abandoning him and his brother. He was mad at his cousin because it meant that he was another person that had left them. They were alone again. Destitute, poor, penniless, insignificant orphans with nothing to live for and no one living for them.

There was nothing left for them anymore.

And yet, Alexander felt spite in place of his anger. So the world wanted him to fail. So what if God wasn’t helping him or James? So what if everybody that had ever cared for them at a point had abandoned them, had slammed them against walls while they were suspended from a rope that was tied around their necks? They couldn’t die, they wouldn’t die, they haven’t died yet, so there was something left. A beautiful, wonderful, ugly thing called spite.

Fine then. He’ll give the world a reason to live for  _ him. _

. . .

FEBRUARY 19TH, 1769

He was fourteen years, one month, and eight days old. They had been homeless for one month and eight days. He and James had been orphaned for exactly one year.

James was nothing but shambling a mannequin of a boy for weeks after that day.

Their lives might have been stopped in their tracks, but time kept marching on. Neither were ready. One was wondering if he could live on anymore. The other was living on out of spite of it.

Alexander fell on the latter side of the spectrum.

. . .

MARCH 7TH, 1769

James got a paid apprenticeship to a carpenter. It certainly wasn’t enough to support the both of them, but it was enough to keep them from dying. Alexander knew that it wasn’t enough.

His older brother didn’t talk much anymore. He drifted in and out of Alexander's life, spending nights inside of his master’s shop. Alexander wasn’t allowed to stay with him, so in compensation, Alex was left in charge of their money. Alex had to find other sleeping situations. At least there was a guarantee that the person that was taking care of him wouldn't leave him.

He had to fend for himself.

. . .

MAY 13TH, 1769

Alex finally got a job. If there was one thing that he liked about it, it was that it showed them that there were people who were treated worse than he was. As he saw people with skin dark like leather who glistened in the sun from sweat get pushed along in their shackles, it showed him that he wasn’t the person that was suffering the most.

Every time he felt that he felt a pang of self-loathing. He was so selfish, he had always been so selfish. He was still living out of what… spite? A need to prove himself to others?

He was standing here, watching people get beaten and abused and feeling relief from it because it wasn't him.

He felt disgusted with himself as he ate the bread that he bought with his earnings. He had half a mind to spit everything out.

He took another bite.

. . .

JULY 4TH, 1769

Alexander got kicked out of the squatting group that he had been in for the last few months after he had finally confided in someone about the details of his job and how it made him sick to his stomach.

_ “Sorry,” they had said. “But we can’t deal with anyone who works in that trade.”  _

_ “But-” _

_ “It don’t matter if you like it or not, you’re still workin’ it,” _ the leader said. “An’ that means you’re helpin.”

Alex looked back guiltily at the two black siblings that had been with the group for longer than he had. They gave him a pitying glance, but they agreed with everyone else. Alex had to go. Frankly, Alex wasn’t in a position to defend himself, so he left with a bag of all of his books and the few apples that his group gave him in compensation.

The younger of the two black siblings was his age, or at least, he was the age that he told everyone he was so he could get a job in the first place. The older brother was James’ age. They barely spoke a lick of English, but they were close to the boys in the group than he could ever hope to be. They weren’t his friends, but they were people who saw his misery and decided to let him join their group of “miserable people,” as they called it.

They were a shadow of what his relationship with James used to be.

…

OCTOBER 7TH, 1769

He hasn’t received a letter from James in nearly a month and hasn’t seen him in three. 

He still had his food, he still had a job, and he could still pick locks on his own. He broke into his boss's house while he was away.

Perpetually stuck in a loop of breaking in, sleeping, going outside, and working.

_Again, again, again._

…

JANUARY 11TH, 1770

Alexander was now fifteen years old, though if you were to ask anyone else other than James, they would tell you that he was thirteen. A thirteen-year-old prodigy who could take over his master’s shop from time to time and knew his away around the docks like the back of his hand.

Fisherman by the harbor would also tell you of a child who had a valuable opinion when it came to financial inquiries and trade. 

The more observant fisherman would tell you that he also often wandered barefoot on the sand whenever he was on break, throwing seashells into the ocean.

_ One for father. _

_ Two for Ma. _

_ Three for my cousin. _

_ Four for Jamie. _

When he got to his boss’s home, there was an unfamiliar horse outside.

_ No, he can’t be home now, I still have my things in there- _

“Excuse me sir,” a man with a large satchel said, jerking Alex out of his thoughts. After Alex nodded in acknowledgment after the initial shock, the man continued.

“Are you Mr. Kruger?” Alarmingly, Alex felt his chin, hoping that he wasn’t mistaken for a man because of a stubble. That would give away that he was actually much older than he told everyone he was. Luckily, he any hair.

“No sir, just his associate.”

“Wonderful!" The man pulled something out of his bag. "Take this to him as soon as you get the chance,” and with that, the man dropped a parcel into Alex’s arms and hopped on his horse before moving onto the next street over.

When Alex went inside, reluctantly opened the parcel just enough so he could see what was inside, as if he wasn’t intruding on his boss’s personal life enough. A slip of paper fell out. He picked it up.

_ Alex, _

_ I hope this letter reaches your hands first instead of Mr. Kruger’s. _

_ Please forgive  me  for the lack of correspondence.  I hope this can serve as some sort of compensation. _

_ Happy birthday, _

_ James _

Alex immediately continued to tear the parcel to shreds to see a leather bound book with golden paint adorning the spine. He ran his fingers across the edge and traced the designs with the pad of his index finger. He opened to the first page. It would have been blank if not for the scrawled, big, rounded letters in the middle.

_ So you can stop marginalizing yourself. _

All the other pages were blank.

His brother was an absolute genius.

Alexander grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gahhh i had such bad writer's block i just want this chapter done so i can move onto other stuff, sorry if there was a dip in quality!


	7. family ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta's note: Hello everyone! I'm AlexanderYamilton (or Lindsay, I answer to either~) and I'm going to be beta reading this wonderful fic from here on out. Not sure what else to say other than that I absolutely adore this fanfic and I'm beyond excited to get to beta read for it. :V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first chapter that has been beta-ed by the endlessly helpful, amazing, and wonderful @AlexanderYamilton!!! thank them for the lack of errors ^^;; 
> 
> also, thank you so much for the positive reaction last chapter? as well as 20 kudos, wow!!! i hope i can live up to everyone's expectations :)
> 
> TW FOR: abandonment, people calling people a mistake, loneliness. please let me know if i'm not telling you things that i should be tagging for!

FEBRUARY 19TH, 1770

 

Alex held a strange sort of connection to the notebook, bringing it everywhere he went. The behavior was akin to a child with their favorite blanket.

He was sitting on the seashore, hands behind him in the sand and notebook at his side. The water rolled up to lick his outstretched legs before retreating back into the ocean. He could hear the shouts of the men who were loading crates of tobacco to ship to the colonies. Alex was glad that he was on break so he wouldn't have to deal with overseeing them.

He picked up his notebook and opened to the first page, which still had James' rounded letters scrawled across it. It was still the only page that had been written on. Alex hadn't used any others, not yet. The act of tracing his thumb over the spine and the edges of the cover was enough to keep him content.

...

Alex was back inside of the small shop where he had been resuming work and seeking solstice from the glaring sun.

Mr. Kruger came up behind him as he was looking over financial reports to ask for a favor. He slapped him on the back, jarring him from his thoughts. He scrambled to his feet, accidentally stepping onto his boss's shoes. He backpedaled and attempted to apologize.

“Sorry!” he said. It was in a voice quiet enough to seemingly not be heard by the taller man. He didn't seem to mind.

"Hey, good to see you, do me a favor and run this package down to 53rd, the dark gray house? The mail won't reach it till tonight and I need this there now." He left before Alex could get in a word. The door swung shut behind him.  _ Well. _

That was that.

Alex put all the reports away into the safe in the back of the room and started to head out, picking up the large package in both of his arms. As soon as he went outside, he felt like he was in hell. He was in weather hot enough to qualify as hellish.

What did his boss say again? 53rd street. That was a few blocks away from the church, on the other side of town. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he set off.

. . .

The sky was a few shades shy of a brilliant blue with a few clouds dripping down towards the horizon, some closer to the ground than others. The air would have been clear if it weren't for the horses kicking up dirt, blowing it into Alex's face.

Parts of the streets were blocked by produce sellers and signs attempting to lead potential customers into shops. Alexander skillfully navigated himself around all obstacles that stood in his way while barely managing to perch his head on top of the package he was carrying. 

He could hear the church bell ring five times in the distance. It was five PM, and the sun was already threatening to go down early. Alex quickened his pace, making a point to not look directly at the church when he passed it.

The people were thinning out as he neared closer to 53rd street, now only a few people walking the same way as him. Eventually, the sky turned to a color that resembled a soupy red as the last of the thrown rays of sunlight beat down on his back.

He reached a brick wall that had branches craning over the top. Alex could make out gray walls behind all the foliage. He walked around the perimeter until he reached a gate and let himself onto the property.

He knocked on the door once and was about to knock again when a man with a leather face opened the door. He motioned for Alex to wait in the doorway and left him alone.

A taller man of lighter complexion appeared in his place that reminded Alex of his brother a little. His eyes seemed to see Alex but didn't acknowledge that he was there, instead choosing to free the package from his arms and setting it down at his feet. He wordlessly got out a pen and paper from his coat and scribbled a note before pressing it into Alex's hands.

"Give Mr. Kruger my many thanks, and bring this to him, will you?" With that, the man closed the door in Alex's face.

He didn't appreciate being demoted to a messenger.

He also didn't appreciate not getting paid for the work he did.

Alex continued playing messenger.

...

After he delivered the note, Alex found himself at the church again, and the bell had just rung eight times. There was a star spat sky above him this time. He decided to get closer to the church. To that wall.

There wasn't any tar, which Alex supposed was a given. James had a job, James had a proper place to sleep, and James somehow had the means to get him an actual leather notebook, which Alex held in his hands now. 

In a way, Alex could convince himself that he hated James. How he was so impulsive and was always on the cusp of destroying things again and again and again. It was an exercise in futility, really, all of the time and rage that he wasted on painting a single wall in a town that nobody cared about, only for the message to be painted over the next morning.

He was reminded day after day that people would just paint over it again, but he still wrote on the wall anyway. 

James always seemed to be the one to tell everyone how he felt even if nobody would listen. If a tree fell in the middle of a forest where nobody was there to hear it, then did it really make a sound?

Out of the corner of his eye, Alexander saw a figure sprint down the street adjacent to him. This coaxed Alex from his thoughts and allowed himself to keep walking.

At first, Alex paid no mind to the figure. But when he saw it again through the alleyway between two shops that had already closed up, he got more curious. He would have let it pass by him once more were it not for the strained but certainly audible croak that came from one street down. Alex went down the alleyway, shoving his notebook into his coat and followed the figure from a few paces behind. It paused, hearing Alex's footsteps, and sent a warning glance behind him, one that said: _ "Don't follow if you know what's good for you." _

Realizing that he had been caught, Alex froze in his footsteps. The figure- the boy started walking again. Stupidly, Alex kept following until they were at the end of the street. The boy turned around again and bared his teeth not unlike a dog. Alex, unmoving, stood his ground. After a moment, the boy sighed and crouched down, making his height level with Alex's own. Alex wouldn't have minded looking up to make eye contact.

How condescending. Alex wanted to punch him in the throat. If only he could reach. 

"Fine, if you wanna follow, then follow, but don't get in the way." Alex didn't give an answer, instead choosing to walk a few steps closer to the boy. He didn't want to give an answer to a demand that he wasn't sure if he would be able to follow through with.

The duo continued in silence until the taller boy made one last sharp turn between two shops. There were two- no, three others in the alleyway. Alex couldn't make out their faces until he walked further down.  _ Oh _ , he thought.  _ I know these people. _

He knew two of the others from his old squatting group. They were a lot taller and a lot more built than he remembered, but he supposed that those type of things came with time, albeit not to everyone. Alex embarrassingly looked down at their shoes-

He froze.

-that had tar sticking to them. They were standing over another boy. 

Time had made him taller, more built, but Alex knew the third boy in the alleyway who was currently slumped on the ground, eyes open but unseeing.

_...Jamie?  _

"The paint, did it dry?" A boy whose face reminded of tomato soup was the first to speak.

"Yeah, everything's all covered up," Alex's guide replied. The other boy, a brunette, sighed in relief? Scorn?

Alexander was able to get a glance on the person who was slumped on the ground. He had angry red marks along his arms and disheveled hair, more so than usual.

James was still staring at the ground. His hands were a color that was darker than leather. 

Tar colored. 

Alex pulled his coat closer to his own body, pressing the notebook that he had been given against his chest.

"So this is the kid, huh," the tallest boy said. The three of them looked down at James. Alex couldn't see their expressions, but he knew how to read a situation. Alex slowly backed away from the scene. As much as he didn't like admitting it, Alex was outgunned, outmanned, and outnumbered. He couldn't get his brother out of this situation, not now.

"Yeah, found ‘em coming back this way with all that shit all o'er his hands," tomato face said. "He ain’t apologizin’."

So they had painted over the wall already. James was still writing on the walls. 

_ Nobody cares, James, so why...? _

Alex's guide hunched his shoulders and kneeled down to James' level. Alex stepped closer, but tomato face and the brunette threw him a warning glance over their shoulders before widening their eyes in realization. Just as the tall one by James started to speak, they interrupted.

"Alex?" They said, stepping closer. James' head shot up and finally saw his brother for the first time in months. This is not how either of them had planned to see each other.

"Uh, yeah? Do I know you?" Alex lied. He recognized their faces, but couldn't put names to them. Tomato face saved him the trouble.

"Remember a... has it been a year already? Remember a year back? We were in that..." he omitted the part where they illegally squatted on people's properties. "...group." Alex lit his face up to play along. 

"Oh, right!" He paused, carefully calculating what he would say next. No need to trip over any wires yet. "Do you know how everyone is?" Brunette spoke up.

"Not really. Every seems to have gone off somewhere. Glad to see you're still in town, though." He smiled as if Alex's brother wasn't lying on the ground, guarded by a boy inches upon inches taller than him who looked ready to beat him up then and there. Alex peered over their shoulders on his toes. Alex's ex-guide, watching their conversation with caution, turned to face James again.

"Why's a rat like you marking up the church?" He asked, almost innocently, as if they were having a conversation over a cup of tea. James closed his eyes and pressed his back up against the wall. If he backed up anymore, then maybe he would melt from the pressure.

Maybe that was the best outcome for him at this point.

"No answer?" He slapped James in the face in a flash. More angry red marks slowly appeared on his cheek, angry enough to be visible thanks to the lamplight hanging at the entrance of the alleyway. When Alex was about to react, Brunette looped his arm over his shoulder, causing Alex to steel himself in place. The brunette knew what he was doing. He mumbled quietly enough so only Alex could hear.

"Got a reason to defend him?" It sounded like a threat. Alex pulled his coat closer to his body and swallowed.

"I don't get why you-" the tall one poked James square in the chest, in his ribs. "-of all people, think that they can defile a church." James flinched before opening his eyes. He turned his gaze towards Alex, making it seem like he was directing his words more towards him than his tormenter.

"I thought that my brother would get it." Alex saw tomato head direct his attention towards him. James continued. "But then I realized he's probably more like you guys then he's like me." Alex wanted to take a step back, but he was held in place by the brunette.

"I like it when people know what I have to-" James started. He was interrupted. 

"Shut. Your. Mouth." Each word was enunciated by a slap. James scrunched up his face, dipping his chin into his chest to somehow lessen the blows. It didn't help.

"You don't get to defile God's domain."

"If God is here, then why does he let me say what I want on his walls?" James shot back. His face was already stinging so much that it was starting to become numb. Another slap didn't help.

"You-" A pause. "Are a mistake. God didn't intend for you to be created, but here you-"

"Don't you _ dare _ say that," Alex suddenly said. The boy turned around with a nasty look on his face, or was it a grin? If looks could kill...

Alex attempted to continue but Brunette had an ever tightening grip around Alex's neck. It felt like stomach fluids were going up his own throat. He was about to puke. 

"I guess that would hit close to home for Alexander here," Brunette said. "Hey, Thomas, remember what he told us when we still let him stay with us?" 

Tomato Face snickered. "Not all the details, refresh me."

"Of course," he said with a Cheshire grin, wrapping his arm around Alex's neck tighter still. "Little Alex here- and his brother too, I suppose- were the result of some  _ whore _ -" Alex cringed upon hearing the word. "-and the poor bloke unfortunate enough to knock her up. Realized it after he made two mistakes, and split." Alex attempted to kick his captor in the knee, but Tomato Face held his leg. He was fuming, how dare they, how  _ dare they tell this stranger about him- _

James' tormentor looked satisfied until he grabbed one of his brother's tar covered hands. He smeared his hand all over James’ face until it looked like the color of his own shoes and finally got up from his knees. He stood over James so he was in his shadow.

"Next time I see blasphemy on the walls, I'll find you again."

With that, Brunette finally let go of Alex and led tomato face and the tall boy away from the alleyway.

"See ya, Alexander," Tomato Face said over his shoulder.

Alex didn't turn to wave goodbye.

...

"...James-"

"Don't." James put his hand against the wall and pushed himself up. He wiped tar off his lips with the back of his hand.

Alex stayed in place as he watched James stagger into a standing position. His arms were a tar spat red and his face was completely black. His eyes looked like they were made of glass.

"Do you remember," he started. "When we would go to the beach on your birthday every year?" Alex nodded, unsure of where James was trying to take this conversation.

"Remember when... when we'd collect seashells for Ma?" Alex nodded again.

"Jamie, why are you telling me-"

"You can't call me Jamie anymore." His words cut into Alex's stomach. He threw the words at his face.

"You can't call me that anymore," James said as if repeating it would cement the phrase in stone. "We're not kids who can go to the beach whenever we finish work anymore. We can't keep pretending to be on good terms. The last time I talked to you at all was on your birthday, and that was a few words and an attempt at a gift." Alex realized that he was still holding the notebook to his chest. It had probably made an imprint against his skin by now.

"Judging from how-" the older Hamilton laughed in spite of himself. Perhaps it was in spite of Alex instead. "-how well you defended me just now, I don't think you can argue otherwise." Alex tried stepping closer towards his brother. His brother took a step back.

"Jamie-"

...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Jamie- _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...

"I'm not Jamie. Stop it. You can't call me that anymore." Alex wanted to plead, but his brother continued.

"You know, if I were you, I would have jumped in right away and socked those bastards in the face. If I were you, I would've made friends with the right people if I was the one sleeping on the streets. If I were you-"

Touchy subject, and James knew it, but he continued anyways.

"-I would have woken up my own damn brother when I thought my mom was dead so we could have maybe gotten help together." Alex stopped in his attempts to approach his brother. His hand, which he noticed was reaching out towards his only family left, retracted back to rejoin his other arm, which was holding the notebook against his chest.

...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ -You're scaring me. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...

"I didn't know you felt like that," Alex managed to force out.

"Alexander-"

"I'm Alex." A pause.

"Of course you wouldn't know things like that when you're too busy crying into your books and not paying attention to anything else. Maybe if you were paying attention more you would have noticed that our cousin wanted to commit suicide," he spat. Alex was getting punched in the stomach, over and over  _ again, again, again- _

...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Can't you look at me?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...

"Honestly, you've always been so obsessed with your own knowledge, your own education, you never noticed anything else that was happening around you." Alex was having enough.

"You can't blame me for his death when all you did is sulk at the beach and scream at walls," he retorted.

"I can blame you for Ma's death, can't I?!" James shot back.

...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Are you mad at me?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...

James continued throwing his torrent of words at the younger Hamilton, refusing to call him a brother anymore.

"If you hadn't gotten sick then we would be in our room above our shop, sharing a bed right at this moment! If it weren't for you-"

_ Again, again, again, stop it, stop it- _

"-we wouldn't be orphans! Haven't you checked the date today? Ma died two years ago after God showed her nothing for years, even when she showed him everything, he's not here, she never got a break from anything and yet all she was was trouble! Did I ever tell you that her old husband, dear Peter's father beat her? Did I ever tell you that he was the reason why she left her old family?"

Alex had glassy eyes. His arms were shaking. The grip on his notebook was loosening.

James continued again, in a softer voice. A small smile was feigning presence on his face, teasing at happiness but ultimately failing. "Things were just fine, father was still here before you were born. Ma was here before you were born."

...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


I feel alone Jamie, so, so alone...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...

"Even so, I thought you were a good brother. You kept me company and went to the beach with me. You scrubbed floors with me and polished shoes for me sometimes." The teasing smile dropped back into... a frown? A scowl?

"A good brother doesn't stand and watch his only family get beaten up in a goddamn alleyway."

James paused, realizing that he was getting nowhere with a seemingly pointless conversation. 

Alex felt tears tear down his cheeks, dipping into the corners of his lips before rolling out onto his neck again. More came. He was crying, slowly, silently. He couldn't hear James at all, didn't want to hear him, all he wanted was for him to just stop it,  _ you're scaring me, he's mad at me he hates me he's going to leave me- _

James walked towards Alex, brushing his shoulder past him before turning the corner. Tar got on Alex's shirt. Not another word was spoken.

Alex dropped the notebook on the ground in a puddle of tar.

...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_ I miss you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my self-confidence took a complete nosedive this week, but i decided "fuck it, i'll stop thinking about writing it and just do it."


	8. penultimate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, so remember that time i said that there would only be 1-2 more parts in act one? i lied. i was writing this one to originally just be one part but then i accidentally wrote a lot more than planned so i decided to break it up a bit more.
> 
> TW FOR: Implied physical abuse, implied sexual abuse (if you squint, it's only in the line when violets on the windowsill are mentioned, but it's there)

SUMMER, 1770

Alexander noticed how dry it seemed to be getting as the season of spring came to a close. There had been a huge fire that struck the other side of town, over where his mother’s shop used to be. Alex heard talks from his boss, wondering if he should move his entire business to the next island over, to Saint Kitts, which was getting significantly more rain. Even though fewer ships went through there, one probably had a better chance of surviving.

_ Dying's easy, but it's less easy if one moved up north. _ At least, that's what Alexander would tell you if you asked him to state his boss's opinion about life in Charlestown.

In the end, however, the fire didn’t spread over the entire town.

A shame, really. Maybe everything would have ended up burning down to the ground, including everything that had happened on the other side of town. Maybe the church had burned down. Maybe the docks had burned down. Maybe his cousin’s house burned down. Maybe Ma's shop had burned down.  _ Or rather, Peter's shop _ , Alex added bitterly.  _ Dear, lovely, sickening Peter. _

If only the fire had been able to keep going, maybe it could have taken down the rest of this miserable little town, this insignificant nightmare that God had woven for him.

Sometimes, Alex found himself waking up from a dream where that exact thing had happened. They were dreams in which he could watch the flames roll over the wooden frames of the buildings, sparks weaving through the crevices in homes before being pulled together by a sewing needle, causing everything to collapse around it. He dreamed of blankets upon blankets of heat, of flames engulfing Nevis in its entirety. He dreamed of an orange sky, black soot falling down like rain from the heavens and singeing everything that it touched. Maybe the rain would fall down so gently that one would be compelled to catch it on their tongue. Except that, it would blacken your teeth. It would cook your throat.

Instead, Alexander woke up to a familiar nightmare every day, one in which his town was still alive and well.

He could feel time moving in sudden bursts of events as he saw brief glances of the dates at the top of newspapers saying that the colonies were getting more and more discontent with England. At least something was happening on the mainland. Alex was sure that Charlestown was perpetually stuck in a state between tragedy and normalcy.

At this point in his life, Alex was sure about a few things.

One: He was a fifteen-year-old boy who had a job at a trading post. Only having to take care of himself, Alex spent a lot more time at the harbor than anywhere else, striking up conversations with the fishermen and even the newly imported slaves if he could sneak a few words in.

Usually, they didn’t speak English at all, but Alexander did his best to use hand motions to communicate what he wanted to say. Of course, saying “I’m sorry” in makeshift sign language wasn’t exactly the most efficient means of communication. Most of the time the slaves just shrunk away in fear of his pale complexion, but at least Alexander had a pastime. Even if he had to see the effects of what being crammed together on a ship for months would do to someone.

Puking on your own feet, sitting in the sick of everyone around you, waking up and knowing that your life was now someone else's possession, a pawn that they could place anywhere they could on a chessboard.

_ Good thing that isn't me _ , Alex thought.

_ I’m such a disgusting person. Disgusting and selfish, _ he thought again.

Two: He was alone. James wasn’t answering any of his letters. Every time Alex went to go visit his master to ask for his whereabouts, he’d say that James was out and that he would  _ “Recommend to not come back here ever again, or at least, that was in Jamie’s words. Sorry kid.” _

Jamie’s words. That name left him lightheaded. _ His name is James _ , he wanted to respond. _ You don’t get to call him that, you aren’t family _ , Alex wanted to say.

_ “You don’t get to call me that anymore,” _ was what James said to him. So was Alex really one to talk?

Alexander still brought his notebook everywhere. He brought it as if it could substitute the empty feeling in his chest whenever he’d find a pretty looking seashell. He would then look up only to see that an older brother wasn't there to share the moment with him.

Alexander felt the type of ache in his chest where he couldn’t breathe in normally, where he would have to take one extra deep breathe to get the air he needed.

Three: He needed a change. He needed to see something other than the docks, Alexander needed to see a different sea, a different ocean, different people. But as far as he knew, Alex was stuck in the town of Charlestown on the tiny, forgotten island of Nevis, living the same nightmare every day.

_ Again, and again, and again. _

…

AUTUMN, 1770

Alex got his change after a while. No, it wasn’t a letter from James. No, it wasn’t a different job. It was at long last, the camaraderie of someone his own age.

They had met on the very same beach that Alex found himself going to every year on his birthday, with or without James. He found her skipping stones on the water, flinging smooth textured ones one by one into the horizon. Her skin was brown like leather, glistening with sweat under the blistering sun with long, black hair going down her back like the waves of the ocean. She noticed him come up behind her and immediately backed away.

“Do you speak English?” He had asked with a soft voice. The girl responded like he expected her to, which was a confused look and in a position to start slowly backing away. Panicking and not wanting her to be scared of him, Alex had to resort to his less than stellar “sign language.” He put his hands up before drawing a line over his neck and nodding his head no. Hopefully, the girl read this as “I don’t want to hurt you,” and not “You’re not supposed to be here, I’ll kill you.”

Luckily for Alexander, she interpreted the hand motions as the former. She stopped moving away, but there was still a large gap in between the two. There was a pile of rocks separating them, a barrier between his world and her own. He decided not to cross it, instead taking a rock from the pile and attempting to skip it over the water. It bounced once before dropping into the ocean.

It’s been awhile since he’s tried skipping rocks over the water with someone else.

He tried not to think about it.

The girl eyed him up and down, seemingly assessing him and comparing him to a checklist titled “people who want to hurt me.” After a moment, she took a rock from the pile and skipped it over the water. It bounced seven times before it disappeared into the waves.

The act was a peace offering of sorts, showing that she felt comfortable resuming her previous activity while she was in the presence of someone else.

Not another word was spoken between the two, but they stood with a pile of rocks between them slowly dissipating as the sun slowly made its way across the last of its distance across the sky.

Alex caught the girl looking at him directly in the eyes a few times when he turned to pick up another rock from the pile. She didn’t think him hostile anymore, but a palpable and dense silence was still in between them. It was dense enough that even a knife couldn’t cut through it.

…

DECEMBER, 1770

They were on speaking terms a month later.

With the way that was phrased, one would have thought that they were in an argument and had refused to speak to each other until one of them finally broke down and said that they wanted to be friends again.

Of course, the two of them shared a peculiar circumstance that wasn't quite like a typical friendship.

It had started the third time they met on one of their skipping stone sessions. Their relationship was one of few words if any at all. It was different from what Alexander was accustomed to in a friendship, as he was used to dropping in snide remarks at a moment’s notice whenever his brother happened to say something that he found refutable.

_ Stop it. _ Alexander pushed the thought to the back of his head.  _ Not right now, not when you’re with someone. _

To distract himself, he broke the silence between them for the first time when he said something out of the blue.

“Alexander.”

The girl seemed startled. She flinched at the sudden sound before noticing that he had turned to look at her.

Alex pointed to himself. “Or Alex,” he said with more finality. Hopefully, the meaning would come through via his makeshift sign language. The girl seemed to get it, widening her eyes. She looked down at her feet, trying out the lip movements as she mouthed the name silently to herself. She looked up, eyes brightening as she said her own name.

_Her eyes_ , Alexander noted. _Are the same kind of black as that bitter drink that Ma made me try once._

“Sungila.” She pointed to herself. “I’m Sungila.” It was Alex’s turn for his eyes to widen.

“You speak English?”

She turned away from him, choosing to take a rock from the pile between them and skipping it on the ocean. It bounced four times. “I picked it up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

She gave him a mischievous look. “If I act like I don’t, people like you normally go away.”

People like him. Alexander knew what she meant. “Why are you out here all the time? Don’t you have a mas-” Alexander said, catching himself mid-sentence- “Somewhere to go?”  He didn’t want to lose this semblance of a friendship that he thought he had gained. Sungila gave him a knowing look.

“I’ve got a master, but he thinks me too young to work the fields. I do housework ‘til everyone goes to bed.”

“And do you not sleep?” He wouldn’t be surprised if all she did during the night was practicing skipping stones. That is the only explanation as to why she seemed to be so much better at it than Alexander.

“I leave a little after you do.” Alex picked up another rock and tried skipping it on the water. It sank soon after it bounced the first time. “You usually leave the beach earlier because you get frustrated at the rocks and give up-” Alex rolled his eyes in response.

"Am I wrong?” Alex resigned to sit down and simply watch Sungila as she continued skipping stones flawlessly against the surface of the ocean. Her hair got in her mouth when she whipped her arm forward to throw the rock. It bounced several times. She pushed her hair out of her face and looked down at Alexander with a snide smile.

“You don’t have to answer, Alexander." She enunciated his name, slowly rolling out each sound with her tongue. She made the syllables feel comfortable on her lips.

"I know I’m always right.”

Alex liked the way she said his name.

…

JANUARY 1ST, 1771

She was there before Alexander. It was nearly evening again, like the last few times they had met.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Several thrown rocks later, Alexander spoke again.

“Sungila, was it?” The syllables fumbled with his tongue. He made a hard g sound, preceded by an “i” that he said like how it sounds when you say, “The Nile River.” He knew it was wrong before she had even corrected him.

“Sure, if that’s how you want to pronounce it.”

“Then how  _ do _ you say it?”

“Sun-gee-la,” she said. Her name was a birdsong, except the sounds were coming from a human’s lips. Alex couldn't even hope to replicate what she had said, so he somewhat backed away from the challenge.

“Do you have a nickname?”

“Not for you to use.”

“You wound me.”

“Tragic.”

“Well, I have a nickname that you can use. It’s Alex.”

“That’s nice, Alexander.”

“I said you can use it.”

“That’s not a name for me to use.”

_ Well, someone’s gotta use it. _

_... _

JANUARY 11TH, 1771

Sungila was pacing across the beach. Or maybe she was just looking for rocks to throw and just happened to have a stern face on with furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. Either way, Alex seemed to be alone with his own thoughts.

Alexander decided to ignore the fact that he was at the beach on his birthday. Two years- or no, was it three years ago? He wasn’t sure.

Some time ago, Alex would have been playing with his brother on the seashore, collecting seashells, or skipping stones, or running, or just sitting in the sand.

“Hello? Alexander?” His eyes shot up to meet Sungila, hiding a concerned expression behind a teasing tone.

“Hi, sorry.” He looked towards the sea again and pretended not to notice the red welts that were peppered across her arms. "You can call me Alex, you know." She ignored him.

“You’re not telling me something.”  _ Yeah, I’m not telling you that it’d be nice if you’d call me Alex. _

“I’m fine.” In response, she kicked the rocks that separated them and sat next to Alex, who was staring blankly at the ocean. Sungila looked at his profile with squinted eyes, craning her neck in disbelief. Alex saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned to her.

“Sure you are-”

“-How did you learn to skip stones so well?” Alexander suddenly cut her off.

_ Anything to take my mind off things. _

She looked confused, but she answered after a moment of hesitation.

“My big brother taught me.”

_ Shit. _

"You... never told me you had a brother," Alex said, feeling somewhat betrayed. This was of course, despite the fact that he hadn't told her of his family either. Sometimes double standards are a necessary evil, or at least, that's what Alexander would tell you.

Sungila picked up a rock from the pile that she had kicked over and ghosted her fingers over it gently. "Yeah, I uh-" she paused, fidgeting with her fingers- "I do."

"What's his name?" She let a slow grin spread over her face, allowing it to crinkle the skin underneath her eyes and brighten everything around her.

Alex truly looked at her in awe for the first time since he met her.

"His name was Mvuluki." Alex tried mouthing the words to himself like she had done with his own name, but Sungila kept talking. "'Cept, I called him Magpie because he acted like he stole all of the village girls' hearts." She laughed, the nostalgia coming back to her. "Except all of them found him too loud, but don't tell him I said that."

Alex smiled at her.

"Back home, we lived by a creek that ran between our village and the outer farms, and there'd be a lot of rocks on the banks. We'd take 'em, go to the pond and have contests to see who can make theirs bounce the most."

"Sungila-" She cut him off.

"And you know, before he taught me he used to just watch me fling rocks into the pond hoping they would bounce somehow. He'd laugh at me and call me names."

"I never knew-"

"He called me Twee because that's the sound that birds make when they sing in the morning. I thought it was a bit of a stretch at the time, but it makes sense if you know my name. Sun-gee-la.  _ Sung. _ " She paused, considering something for a moment.

"Your nickname isn't a stretch. That must be nice."

"You can call me Alex, you know."

"Alexander," she said.

Alex sighed, not sure what else to say. She was rambling. He wasn't sure if he should stop her from oversharing because her expression started turning dark, but a selfish side of Alex wanted to know more about Sungila, the girl who could throw rocks that could bounce for miles. In the end, the latter part won, so he stayed quiet and continued. Instead of staring at her face, he started staring at the angry red bruises decorating and tainting her arms.

"He looked so scared when I last saw him, you know. They found our village, they took most of the other kids, and my brother and I were running towards the creeks. And we started throwing rocks at them, but they got me."

All this talk about they, they,  _ they _ . They could only be referring to one group of people, people like Alex, the people that he worked with every day. 

"He looked so panicked, Alexander. He was being held back by them and I was being dragged away and I saw him escape and just run away." Her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes were watering as she frantically ran her hands all over the rock she was holding.

"He didn't even look back at me, he just... ran. I was getting dragged away from my home and I thought they were gonna kill me and I was crying and calling for my brother but he was gone-" Her breathing was growing erratic- "And I remember being so, so mad at first when I was put on that ship."

Right when Alexander decided to stop her, to hold her close and comfort her, she pushed him away and continued despite herself.

"Alexander-" They looked at each other in the eyes. His heart dropped as he saw his reflection in her eyes that had the same black color as that bitter drink that Ma made him try once-

"I felt betrayed by my own family. I was mad for such... such a long time. And I had a right to be mad. But after I'd spent a while serving my master, I had realized-" She threw the rock that she had been holding into the ocean. It sunk instantly, not even bouncing once- "that he couldn't have done much either."

She looked down at their feet, a sad smile playing at the corners of her lips. "A relationship with a person shouldn't make your life obligated to theirs." Sungila tilted her head back to look up at the sky before pupils rolled to her side to glance at Alex.

He sat there, perplexed but frozen in his spot. He noticed how her lips protruded from the rest of her face, forming a perfect "M" shape while being large enough to create a silhouette against the darkening sky. Her arms were on display being her support as she leaned back onto them. Red marks running along them were also on display.

"I'm sorry," Alex suddenly said. Sungila knew what he was trying to say, but she feigned ignorance anyway.

"For what?"

Alex felt like he was apologizing on behalf of himself as well as her older brother, but that was something that Sungila didn't have to know. Instead, he simply just let a careless, meaningless statement roll off his lips.

"For your loss."

She laughed a bitter laugh.

"Sure you are."

...

FEBRUARY 19TH, 1771

You win some, you’ll lose someone.

On one particular day, Alex found that he was the only one out of the two of them that was skipping, or at least, attempting to skip rocks on the water. His record as of late was four bounces. Sungila sat at his feet, hands held close to her chest.

"Why aren't you leaving me in the dust like usual?" He asked this challengingly, expecting her to immediately get up a throw a rock that would bounce twice as many times as his record. Instead, she just yawned and rolled her eyes.

"Even masters have pity, Alexander," she said, mockingly. Alex threw one more rock before sitting back beside her. He reached out to playfully punch her in the arm, but she recoiled. His hand stopped midway between himself and her when he noticed that there were more bruises along her arms.

"Show me your hands," he said. She scooted away from him.

"No."

"Show me, or else I'll-" Alex wanted to threaten her, but then he realized that he had nothing to blackmail her with. Despite this, Sungila let out a defeated sigh and turned her palms to face the sky. Her hands were horribly red and puffy. He scooted closer to her and held the back of her hands in his palms. She was silent, choosing to look down rather than up at Alexander.

"This is terrible, Sungila."

"Don't act like you aren't used to seeing stuff like this," she suddenly shot back. Alex took a sharp intake of breath.

"Don't think I don't know where you work."

“But you’re not one of them, you’re my friend-”

“I AM!” Alex recoiled at her raised voice. She didn’t look one bit remorseful at her words.

“What is this, ‘one of them?’ A different kind of being, something that isn’t even human?!”

Alex was shaking his head furiously,  _ no, no that’s not what I meant- _

“You can’t pretend that his isn’t going on, not if you decide to call me your friend.”

Silence.

Water crept up the seashore to tickle at their outstretched feet. It kept climbing higher, peaking at reaching their thighs before retreating back to where it came from.

...

MARCH 27TH, 1771

"How old are you?"

"I turn seventeen this coming January."

"Oh," she replied. "What's the date today?"

"27th of March."

"Oh. I turn seventeen a month from today."

They stopped skipping rocks a while ago, instead resigning to just sit on the beach together and watch the sky before it turned dark.

"Are we friends, Sungila?" The sky turned to a darker shade of purple.

More silence.

Was she still mad?

_ I hope she isn’t mad. _

She sighed. "I would guess that we're friends by now."

...

APRIL 10TH, 1771

Sungila was limping.

"Hey, my master can't make me work until this heals unless he wants me to die! So I think it's a plus, actually." Her smile didn't crinkle the skin under her eyes the way a real one would. Alex knew what one of her real smiles looked like.

He wanted to hug her.

"Alexander?"

Not knowing what else to say, he simply just corrected her once again.

"You can call me Alex." Nobody else would even consider calling him that. He needed someone to.

She pointedly looked away from him.

“It won’t take too long to heal.”

...

MAY 2ND, 1771

"We should run away," he had suddenly blurted out. Her face was bruised and her hair was disheveled when she had arrived at the beach. Her expression morphed from confused to worried to terrified.

"Alexander, what are you saying-"

"I can't stand seeing you like this anymore." Her face softened for just a moment before a disgusted look formed.

"And you can stand seeing all those other slaves like-" she gestured to the rest of her body angrily, tears starting to form - "this?!"

"That isn't the point Sungila, Saint Kitts gets fewer ships coming through there, there'll be fewer masters and fewer people trying to catch someone who escaped."

“What do you mean that isn’t the point?! Me going away won’t make this problem go away! You can’t just run from something like this, Alexander!”

He stood there with his mouth open before closing it again. She was acting like a petulant child, and she knew it. She can’t act like Alexander could fix all this. She wanted to run, she needed to-

"I don't know,” she finally said.

_ Sleeping on the floor outside of her master’s bedroom, being treated like a maid who needed orders because she couldn’t think for herself, waking up every day in the same nightmare that she had no control over, again, and again, and again- _

_ I’m such a disgusting person. Disgusting and selfish,  _ she thought.

"Alex." If he were a dog, his ears would have perked up and he would have started wagging a tail.

Though, for some reason, Sungila had an easier time picturing him as a cat.

"When do you think we should go?"

...

JUNE 29TH, 1771

"You ready?"

“We’ve spent months planning this. We better be ready.”

“Whatever, Alex.”

"Look at you, finally calling me that."

Sungila ignored his last comment. "Tomorrow's the day."

Alex insisted on emphasizing his last point. He teased. "You called me Alex."

Sungila rolled her eyes. "Yeah okay, but if you start calling me Twee, I swear I'll-"

"Not come? 'Cos it's kinda too late for that. My boss gets back from his trip tomorrow, so if we want to take a boat to Saint Kitts we need to go ASAP. Also, you'd be like, the worst friend ever if you dipped out on me now."

Sungila was silent for a moment.

“I can't believe I'm doing this.”

“Haven't you ever thought about running away before?”

“Well yeah, ‘course I have, but I've never had…” She trailed off, choosing to continue speaking when she could hold Alexander's gaze in her eyes.

She let a smile spread across her face. “Someone like you to do it with. Someone who cared about me.” He sputtered but held his gaze.

Sungila wouldn't break eye contact with him, and he wasn't the one about to back down. He could feel his cheeks slowly heat up. Hopefully, it was dark enough out that Sungila couldn't see the shade of his face or the fact that he was trying to mask a smile.

Mercifully, Sungila looked away right before Alex lost control and smiled. She looked embarrassed at the lack of a reaction from her friend.

"You know what, forget I said anything-"

"I do care about you, though," Alex interrupted. She looked up at him. This time, he didn't try to hide his smile, choosing to let Sungila know how she made him feel. "I care a lot."

Silence. They leaned closer, closer-

-They bumped noses before immediately backing away.

They tried again.

It was quick and awkward. Alex pressed his lips against Sungila's with way too much force, and Sungila made the sound that an aunt would make when she sloppily kissed your cheek. The relative you cringe to meet.

It lasted for a fleeting second.

Alexander's eyes were open the whole time, as were Sungila's. He wasn't sure if that's how kissing was supposed to work, but it had happened.

"Uhh," she started.

"Umm," he continued.

"So that-"

"Happened." Alex scratched behind his ear, choosing to look at his bare feet. Sungila abruptly stood up. He followed suit.

"I'll see you on the other side of tomorrow, Alex."

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

His name sounded much better when she said it. That fact hadn’t changed.

...

JUNE 30TH, 1771

Alexander's mouth and hands were focused on the job before him, filling out reports about what had passed through the trading post, but his mind was thinking about how this was the last time he'd have to work here, ever. He'd be getting his pay after the day closed, he'd meet Sungila at their usual place, and they'd head for the docks to castaway on a ship to Saint Kitts. The plan wasn't foolproof, but it was a plan, and it was a  _ damn _ good one at that if you asked Alex.

His hands were barely glossing over the pages of reports, words blurring and melding into each other. If his work was shawty, so be it because he'd never have to see it again. If he finished quickly enough, he could get his pay early and get his things together to meet Sungila at the beach.

Or he'd be meeting her a lot sooner, judging by the figure that had just stormed past the door of the shop. She had slammed her hands on the counter before he could even greet her.

"Alexander." Her eyes were wide, and her voice was shaking. He immediately abandoned his work and led her behind the counter and to the back room.

"Talk in here."

She entered the room first. Alex closed the door behind her. When he turned around to face her, he found her pacing the room before turning to put her hands on his shoulder.

"Alexander." She had a grave face. He tried to lighten the mood.

"Yes, that is my name, but you know you can call me-"

"My master, he's selling me today to someone else who lives on the mainland, I overheard him this morning and I have to leave and I don’t know what to do because we’ve been planning this for so long and I can’t be alone on the mainland, not without someone I know, not without y-"

"Sungila, hold on, calm down. It's okay. You can stay in the back room until night, and we'll just sneak onto a ship right before it leaves."

"No, I have to get my stuff from my master's house, I overheard him talking and I just ran, and then I found myself here and now I'm telling you and I don't know what to do-"

Alex pulled her closer. He could feel his shirt sleeve get wetter as Sungila sobbed into his shoulder. He stood there rubbing small circles into her back until she quieted down. He felt warm.

"No, I can't stay here and do this," she finally says through sobs, pulling herself away from Alexander. The lack of warmth made Alex shiver, but he complied with her ever changing train of thought.

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath in. The next time she spoke, her voice was steady.  _ Tragic, how she can just stop crying to quickly, _ Alex thought.

_ It's like she has experience holding in tears. _

"I'm going to go back like nothing happened, and I'm going to get my stuff. I'm going to sneak out as soon as we go outside, and I'll run away if I have to. And you better be there waiting for me so we can meet up and get out. Got it?"

"Uh yeah, got it-"

"Good. I'm going to go, you're going to act normal, and meet me at the place at the usual time. I'll see you soon."

She turns to exit the back room.

"Sungila, wait." She turns around on her heel with an irritated look on her face. She was tapping her foot.

"I have to hurry, what do you want?"

He takes a step closer to her. He doesn't want a repeat of how they left things yesterday, so he just hugged her. He could feel her grow rigid before slowly him back, smiling into his shoulder. Alex stopped shivering.

"We're gonna start a life together," he thought out loud. She pulled back to look at his face. He didn't even have a stubble yet, it was peach fuzz at best. How old was this boy, sixteen?

She let the right side of her lip curl up. "I never thought about it like that."

"Would you be opposed to thinking about it like that?"

She leaned closer to him to look at his eyes, and his  _ eyes _ , his eyes were always so complicated. She could never put a name to the color of them. Blue wasn't quite the word, but maybe they looked like the sky, or like the violets that her master grew in his bedroom on the windowsill. Maybe Alex’s eyes looked like the sea that he spent so much time staring at, or like he could cry an entire ocean at any moment. He was so fragile, and yet...

"I suppose I wouldn't be opposed to that, no."

...

The sun was dipping down below the horizon again, and he was on the beach. He had his essentials with him, his books, some clothes, his pay for the week, a few loaves of bread, and a razor because one could never be unprepared for the day that they would finally be able to use it.

The sun was threatening to drop down even quicker. Summer was already threatening to end days quicker than normal, so he started getting impatient. He picked up the habit of pacing with his shoes along the sand.

It was dark.

He waited to see a girl with smooth dark skin, with hair going down her back like waves, with eyes black like the bitter stuff Ma made him drink, with angry red marks dancing across her arms that she never liked talking about. Maybe her face would be contorted into one of frustration before saying how disappointed she was in herself for being late, how she had just barely escaped from her master and how they had to go, how they had had to run now-

The sun was below the horizon at this point. The sky darkened to become a bitter black.

He skipped rocks to pass the time.

None of them bounced more than once.

He waited.

But nobody came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i slipped an undertale reference in there can u see it)
> 
> talk to me on tumblr @akaashily!
> 
> scream at me on twitter @myakhie!


	9. who will save you now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW FOR: Yes, this is when the hurricane happens. Some of Alexander's thoughts might imply depression and suicidal thoughts. it was hard for me to write but i pushed through because i really wanted the emotions to hit. tread carefully, my friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've officially been writing this fic for a month? thank you so much for all of the kudos and feedback! i never expected people to click on this story but here i am, and here you are! thanks for 50 kudos!!
> 
> oboy was it a doozy to write, but i present to you: the closure!!

JUNE 31ST, 1771

 

He had almost gotten fired. Alex wasn’t expecting to have to show up at work the next day and deal with the repercussions of the illegible and senseless trade reports that he had written the day before.

“This is absolutely abysmal work, Alexander,” was what he had been told the next day.

“I’m sorry, sir,” was his meager response. His mind was somewhere else far away from his work, from the chiding from his boss. Was it still at the beach, waiting for Sungila to finally appear? Maybe she been able to escape from her master and was running to the shore now, what if she showed up with her bags packed and fresh red marks adorning her arms and worry lines crinkled across her forehead and an apology on the cusp of her lips but never able to escape because Alex wasn’t there?

The words that Mr. Kruger was spitting out in disapproval were dropping at Alexander’s feet. He looked down but he couldn’t quite process what his boss was saying. Not when his head was still filled with the thought of his packed bag back at the boarding house he lived in, how his trousers were still covered in sand from sitting on the beach all night, how he had laid awake with nothing but the ocean as his witness.

The sun came up and the world still spun, and it had mocked Alexander. The day had the gall to continue on as if nothing had happened, as if the last hope he had of having someone to care about had been shipped off across the sea and he was mad.

They were supposed to start a life together. It was stupid and he was being stupid because she was older than him, even if it was only for a few months, and she was a negro at that, and they would have had nothing to their names. She wouldn’t be able to work, Alex would have been poor, and they would probably have died hungry and have no one to remember them. But at the very least, Sungila would have died free and _goddamnit_ that would have been enough because he cared, cared about Sungila and wanted her to be rid of her bruises, he wanted her to be happy, he loved h-

“This is the worst work you have ever given me.”

The words were still falling from his boss’s mouth. They cut into his thoughts.

He could hear them loud, clear, and precise, but it was like when he read books word for word but didn’t comprehend a single thing.

“How am I supposed to make sense of any of these reports?”

_How was I supposed to know that I’d have to come back here and fix my mistakes? I was supposed to be up north by midday of today._

“You’re lucky that this is the first time.”

_Yeah, the first time I felt like I could finally start a new life._

“This better not happen again. You’re a valuable asset and it’d be a shame if I had to let you go.”

“Yes, sir.”

He’s lucky that his boss still saw some sort of worth in him because he himself was coming up empty. He’d almost been out of a job, out of income, out of money, out of friends, out of a family, out of anything to live for-

What was that... thing that had told himself some time ago? That thought that had been branded into his mind ever since he came home with James and found that his cousin had hung himself?

Oh yeah.

_Spite._

There was something in the scripture about spite being a vile, ugly thing, but Alexander would contest that. Sure, it might be spite, but at least it was something. And he knew at the very least that he needed something.

Anything.

…

DECEMBER 24TH, 1771

 

His boss had given him a jar of mashed potatoes as a present. He unwrapped the gift that evening, sitting up in the room that he had been renting in the boarding home. The walls were as thin as his landlord’s temper and the floor was creaking like the bed that he once shared with his family. Loud singing and music could be heard from downstairs. The smell of something sweet wafted through the open doorway. Laughter from his neighbors could be heard from downstairs. Someone was playing the piano. Warmth was radiating from the doorway.

He shut the door and ate his meal in silence.

…

JANUARY 11TH, 1772

 

He still hadn’t used the notebook that James had given him. The only page that was written on was his brother’s note to him. The only signs that showed that it had been used at all were the bent corners and the tar that had hardened on the front cover. A permanent reminder of his current relationship with his older brother. Despite this, Alex still kept it with him as he studied. A necessary evil, perhaps.

The margins of the books that he owned himself were growing filled, so he had resorted to another tactic.

He wrote on the back of old expense reports that he had managed to sneak home from work under the guise that he would copy them for his own records. He himself didn’t know what he would write about. The backs were often filled with accounts of his day or a description of what the sky looked like earlier that day. Last year, he found himself repeatedly writing that the sky looked like it had salt sprinkled onto it, tiny wisps of clouds flavoring the otherwise blank canvas.

Alexander kept himself busy, meticulously making sure that every aspect of what he was doing at work was being done correctly. He needed to win back his boss’s trust. Without his job, he’d be back where he started- poor, destitute, and penniless. With a job, he at least had a few pennies to his name and a roof to live under.

He always read in bed until he fell asleep and focused his full attention on the sounds that he heard from outside when he couldn’t sleep. He twiddled his fingers when he talked, darted his eyes around when someone tried making eye contact with him, and paced around the backroom when he was on break.

Anything, anything to keep him from thinking too much, from dwelling on things like family, like friends, like _Sungila_ -

None of the people that he shared the boarding house with knew anything about him, other than he was alone, he liked reading, and he would rather not be associated with people.

That’s all they needed to know. Those are the only worthwhile things about Alexander.

 

...

 

It was so hard to find a way for the world to be dependent on him when he felt like he couldn’t even depend on himself.

…

MAY 12TH, 1772 

The fireplace was being used downstairs. Alexander could feel the warm air seep up in between his floorboards. He was writing about how the sky was an ugly grey, almost like smoke, or like spoiled milk. He couldn’t decide which metaphor he wanted to use, and his dilemma was at a point where it was making him livid. His language was failing him, and now there was thunder, thunder that kept on scratching at the windows, shaking the room, thunder, loud bangs that could have shaken Charlestown to the ground-

“Hello? Hello, excuse me? Boy, are you in there?”

Alex winced at the voice but realized that there were only rain droplets on the window. There was no storm, no rain, no thunder beating on his eardrums. Just someone annoyingly pounding on his door.

He got up from his desk and opened the door to meet a burly man with beads of sweat rolling down his face.

“Hello, may I help you?” Alex tried to put on a voice that was polite, yet gave off the tone that he didn’t want to be disturbed at this point in time.

 _Or at any point in time, really,_ his mind added bitterly.

The man didn’t understand the subliminal message and probably mistook it for Alex simply having a cold demeanor.

“It’s raining barrels out. We’ve gotten together to start a fire and I think Ms. Miranda’s going to try to bake something, would you like to join us-”

“I’m terribly sorry sir, but I’m afraid I cannot accompany you downstairs. I’ve taken too much of my work home with me and I must finish it by tomorrow.” The torrent of words had been well rehearsed on multiple occasions when Alexander had told his landlord that he can’t eat breakfast with everyone else, when Alexander told his neighbor that he’d love to meet his son but he had too much work to do. They were well-rehearsed excuses, shameful fibs, disgusting lies.

The man seemed to expect the response.

“If you say so. This storm’s a nasty one, so feel free to come down for company whenever you’d like.”

“I appreciate it, sir.”

Alexander closed the door in a rush, hoping that the man would chalk it up as an accident instead of having the intent to close the connection between them as soon as possible.

…

MAY 1772

 

It was still raining and the fire that was being tended to downstairs wasn’t warm enough to keep his feet heated as he sat at his desk. Alexander couldn’t be bothered to fix the situation himself with a blanket, not when he was on a roll with this paragraph.

He curled his toes before eventually pulling himself up and sitting on his knees, hunching over his work. Nobody wondered why he had bad posture. He’d probably grow up to become shorter than his peers.

The tree outside of his window was banging against it, shaking the glass. The branches were knocking as if they were an acquaintance, wanting to be let into his room. But then, the branches grew impatient, they knocked harder, harder, and the banging kept on getting louder, louder-

It stopped.

Had the branches given up? Have they realized that he didn’t want their company?

It wasn’t until Alexander had finally decided to let his feet down on the ground moments later that he realized.

 _Oh._ He pulled a shard of glass out of his heel. The window broke.

His senses came back to him. He could hear something through the bellowing winds… was it yelling? People clamoring to get outside? Frantic footsteps collecting valuables from around the house?

Why are people going outside? It’s so much colder outside.

_I hate being cold._

…

SPRING 1772

He was supposed to be able to recognize these streets, he was supposed to be the only one wallowing in his own misery while watching everyone around him laugh over a shared joke or furiously haggle over the price of a cantaloupe. He wasn’t supposed to be seeing what reminded him of what the inside of his head looked like. He wasn’t supposed to be seeing a dream come true where he was watching Charlestown burn down to the ground.

 _But-,_ he mused- _In a way_ , it’s not really burning.

It was something better. Or was it something worse? Walls being ripped off of buildings to make them resemble a dollhouse where everyone could look inside. Pillars and houses were toppling unto themselves, boats were being ripped apart by the frantic rains and the streets were being flooded to a point where he could swim up to Saint Kitts if he could.

Was Alexander having a wish being granted to him, or was he being shown what the consequences of his thoughts were? Why would his opinion, of all people matter, when he was just a bastard, an orphan, a whore’s son-

 _No,_ Alexander needed to stop, _stop it this isn’t the time, not when you can’t tell which way is up anymore and the remaining rags of your clothing are sticking to the wounds in your chest, soaking up water and blood and bile-_

The wind was picking up, it was whipping the hair against his face and whistling into his ears, and he couldn’t hear a thing. His lips were chapped, his hands were clammy, his head was pounding and his chest was burning but it wouldn’t, it couldn’t stop, and he tried screaming out for help, he tried yelling out that he was scared and alone and hopeless and cold and _why was it so cold?_

He wanted someone to hear him but everyone was too worried about themselves. He wanted someone to listen but his cries were lost to the roaring winds. _Someone listen, someone please listen someone_ help _me, God can you hear me are you there-_

But nobody came.

 ...

1772

Various days or nights passed. Alexander wasn’t sure. He hasn’t seen a cloudless sky in what felt like an eternity, he hasn’t been able to rest in a real bed for quite some time, not when everything he knew was destroyed and there was no shelter to be found. He slugged through the flooded streets looking for somewhere warm but all of the shops were closed.

It was after what was either the longest few days or the shortest few years that Alexander could see the color of the sky again. He felt like he could kiss the few beams of sunlight that were able to shine through. He could see the beams hit the water. He could see that he was standing atop a wooden beam that was being supported by a pile of crates that had been knocked over. He could see all of the scratches adorning his feet, and arms, and legs.

He put his hands to his cheeks only to realize that he could feel blood. It was now painted across his hands, dipping into the lines that adorned his palms. It was in his fingernails.

It was a yellow streaked sky, remnants of clouds rolling above his head peacefully, chasing after the rest of the storm that had left it behind. The sky looked like chicken soup, clouds orange like cooked meat and the air around him warm like steam. There was quiet.

He could open his eyes without having to feel his vision being pelted with dust and wind and waste. His tears- or were they raindrops- had mingled with the blood streaked across his face. He made it. It was done. He could salvage a life out of this, once he managed to pull the glass out of his feet and clean out his wounds. He could start a brand new life from the Charlestown that he was about to build again. It didn't quite burn down, and Alexander supposed that he was happy about it.

This quaint scene lasted for just a moment. The yellow sky turned gray.

He was suddenly knocked to the flooded ground in an instant, his back hitting the wooden beam he had been standing on a moment ago. His breath got knocked out of him. leaving him gasping for air and desperately looking for something to grab onto, but he couldn't hold onto anything because the rain came down worse than it ever did before, the storm wasn't over, he had barely made it halfway through and now he was paying the price for feeling relieved, for daring to believe that he could actually live a normal life after this-

He was floating on his back, unable to do anything as he was left at the mercy of the current and the wind. They were knocking him back and forth, threatening to pull him underwater so he could never even hope to see the world burn down. He wanted the world to have a reason to go on for him, but it wanted him dead, something wanted him dead, God wanted him dead because he's useless, worthless trash, a mistake, a terrible friend, a terrible brother, a terrible son, a terrible person.

Alexander couldn’t see why he couldn’t catch a break. Maybe it was because he was type of person that someone would look away from seeing because he was pathetic and needed help- _but I don't deserve it I don't deserve help because I'm trash and worthless and I have nothing to live for and nothing has to live for me I'm trash I'm worthless I'M HELPLESS I'M ALONE NOBODY IS HERE FOR ME I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT **WHY AREN'T I DEAD YET WHY CAN'T I SEEM TO DIE I CAN’T BREATHE** -_

...

UNKNOWN

 

He couldn't feel anything. All he could see was a sky that was- mockingly blue? Was this a joke? Or maybe he was in heaven, and he was finally able to die. Or maybe he had been in hell his entire life and Charlestown was his own personal haven of flames. He's already dead, isn't he? _I'm already in hell, in an endless torment and this is just the beginning._

His head was pounding. Alexander had to squint to look anywhere.

The streets were barren. He could see people trapped under rubble. He saw a crying child.

…

The remainder of the current pulled him out of the heap of trash he was in.

…

He waded in the streets.

…

The sun was flinging down its rays like nothing had happened, as if it didn’t abandon them and leave them in misery.

…

It wasn’t the sun’s fault, though. A sun can’t stop a storm no matter how much you needed it to. No matter how painful it might be.

....

The church was completely destroyed. He could see people digging through the rubble, trying to salvage something, anything from the building. Alexander thought that the destruction was an improvement.

…

All the hurricane did was knock down walls that had blocked what the people of this town were really like. He could see people going into shops and stealing things. He could see the wailing in the streets. He could see the children hiding in trees and on top of buildings. He could see bodies floating in ditches. The world didn’t seem wide enough for Charlestown, and this was its attempt to wipe them off the face of the Earth.

But they survived. They survived out of spite.

Alexander laughed a bitter laugh.

...

There were people coughing, throwing up, sneezing, crying, suffering on the remains of buildings. Houses were leveled. Despair surrounded him, and yet, there was a blue sky. The clouds have all run away, the sun was there for them, and the birds were singing.

It seemed to be a cruel joke. A joke saying that they could see paradise but they're weren’t allowed to feel what it's like. And maybe that was the biggest tragedy of it all.

A beautiful background, a dying subject, a laughing painter. It made for an ironic painting. An unfunny joke. A cruel punchline.

...

Alexander could see it. He could reach his arm up and scrape his fingernails against the sky and get it under his fingernails, but that wouldn't change the fact that blood streaked his face, his clothes were sticking to his body, the sick didn't have a dry cloth to their name, and the air smelled like gunpowder.

He was thirsty but the rain water that people had collected was too salty to drink- like the ocean was falling from the sky. Like the tears of all the suffering people of Charlestown were seeking retribution and chose to start a hurricane.

Countless slaves' tears. Sungila's tears. James' tears. Ma's tears. His own tears. They all had streaked down the sky like the blood on his cheeks.

...

Alexander found what used to be the boarding house along with the people he shared it with standing in front of rubble. They were digging through it, hoping to find something that had survived, something like a family heirloom, a safe of jewelry, a prized locket.

Alexander looked too, needing something to distract himself with. He wasn't expecting to find anything really, he just needed to look busy so nobody would come and ask him about his wounds, or where he had been hiding during the duration of the storm.

That's why Alex felt his heart lurch when he threw a wooden beam into the street and turned around to find a leather bound notebook with tar dried onto the cover. It was damp, but the pages were dry. He found a pen.

God, if there was one thing he wanted to do right now, it was to do something other than have to look at the pure devastation that surrounded him.

So he went to the place that used to be the harbor and sat on the shore. The sun was his lighting, the sea was his witness, the beach was his workspace, and despair was his muse.

He wrote on the first blank page of the journal he used to never use.

_“So you can stop marginalizing yourself.”_

You know, James might have been right about that part.

...

_“See sickness and infirmities exposed to the inclemencies of wind and water!”_

Alexander felt that he was still breathing in gunpowder and sulfur.

...

 _“A great part of the buildings throughout the Island are leveled to the ground, almost all the rest very much shattered; several persons killed and numbers utterly ruined; whole families running about the streets, unknowing where to find a place of shelter.”_

Alexander could still hear children wailing in the streets. Orphaned, abandoned, hungry, hopeless.

...

_“Death comes rushing on in triumph veiled in a mantle of tenfold darkness. His unrelenting scythe, pointed, and ready for the stroke.”_

Apparently, death was scared of himself too. Maybe that's why Alexander was still alive, maybe that's why death seemed to avoid Alexander like the boy himself was, well, death.

...

_“I am afraid, Sir, you will think this description more the effort of imagination than a true picture of realities. But I can affirm with the greatest truth, that there is not a single circumstance touched upon, which I have not absolutely been an eye witness to.”_

He was afraid, afraid of how everything was real in this nightmare. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise.

…

He came across a man called Henry Knox who happened to be a business associate and friend with his boss, Mr. Kruger. According to Mr. Knox, his boss had preened about Alexander's great expertise in their field of work and negotiation skills with ship masters and traders alike. Sure, Alex couldn't deny that he had the skill at the very least, but he still felt guilt that he had such an easy time conversing with people who traded people like Sungila like they were property.

Nonetheless, Mr. Knox was interested in the writings that Alexander had conjured up. At least, that's how Mr. Knox had put it. Alexander would have thought that he didn't exactly conjure it up, it was more of writing what his heart looked like on paper. People like Mr. Knox couldn't see it, but there were blood and tears and sweat between lodged between each and every word.

Alex was annoyed at this. The letter had been extremely personal, but it had been published anyway for everybody in the city of Charlestown to read, the type of people who could buy leather boots from his mother's shop without worrying about affording food the next day. The kind of people who called Ma a whore behind her back would read Alexander's letter and think, _what a tragedy that boy has been through_.

_"A boy of his talent shouldn't have to go his entire life without a proper education!"_

_"This boy shows promise, but he needs to go to a real school."_

_**"** There are plenty of colleges in the colonies, aren't there?"_

_"Princeton is among the best from what I have heard."_

He despised the rich, but that fact wouldn't stop him from receiving their generosity.

...

He was leaving. He had a bag with the few remains of the books that he was able to salvage from the leveled house. He was off to the colonies, off to Jersey, and from there, New York. There was a place screaming invulnerability across the sea and Alexander knew that he could do something there. He would yell it from the rooftops and make sure everyone knew who he was- he was Alexander Hamilton, and he was going to make sure that his name was carved in history. The world will never be the same.

All this spite, and now he knew where he could put it to use.

...

_“I know we were doomed from the beginning but that won’t stop me from proving them wrong.”_

**Author's Note:**

> i live for comments :^))


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